


Consumption

by RoyaltySTUDIO



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A lot actually, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Character Death, Dark, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Possessive Behavior, Sadism, Slow Burn, Suicide, Teasing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, enjoy it while it lasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyaltySTUDIO/pseuds/RoyaltySTUDIO
Summary: A murderous serial killer is on the loose in the heart of New York and it is up to Alexander Hamilton to stop him.





	1. Chapter One: Cafe au Lait

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Hannibal fyi and this will include a lot of death, cannibalism, blood, major character death, etc, and if you're not into that, please don't read this or at least read with caution.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Character death (not major) and vomiting.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**March 30th, 2019**

 

 

* * *

 

_𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄_  
_𝐈𝐃: 𝐗𝐗𝐗 𝐗𝐗𝐗 𝐗𝐗𝐗_  
_𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧_  
_𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧_  
_𝐗𝐗𝐗 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞_  
_𝐅_  
_𝟓'𝟔''_  
_𝟏𝟏𝟎 𝐥𝐛𝐬_  
_𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍_  
_𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍_  
_𝟎𝟒/𝟏𝟐/𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟏_

 

Alexander gently grazed the rubber of his glove against the plastic of the license. He wiped away a droplet of water that tapped on the card without permission. He flipped the piece of plastic over to check for any writing. He looked for any scratch marks or fingerprints and there seemed to be none. He turned the driver's license over once again and took a look over the woman's face. 

She didn't seem like the type to cause harm against anyone that could have led to her demise.

Hamilton's eyes glanced upon the snow-white body in front of him. If he were to look from a distance, he could have misinterpreted her as a thrown out mannequin.

The body had been cut in half horizontally and was dressed in nothing. She displayed her private parts for the world to see in a shameless manner. Her skin was smooth and soft as a baby's and there were no signs of decomposition. It showed she died recently. It looked like she had been laid outdoors for around four hours. It wasn't reported until an _hour_ ago and the investigation was still fresh and running.

The woman looked to be in her early 20's. She had brown eyes, brown hair that reached her shoulders and wore a rather skinny body type.

The day had been relatively cloudy, due to the rain showers that occurred this morning. Strangely, Mrs Peterkin's body was free from water on her body. Including the fact that she wasn't under any roofing. Even when touching her, she wasn't cold. Not because of the lack of blood flow, but because she wasn't wet. Occasionally, the skin grew cold when being exposed to certain elements, such as water.

It can be assumed somebody purposely placed her in front of her own front door in a certain amount of time _after_ the rain showers occurred. The rain stopped at one-thirty, therefore Mrs Peterkin's body must have been outdoors after one-thirty. Her apartment's location was laid out in a lonely and isolated street, where it made sense that the report wasn't taken immediately. 

The segment mark had been examined. Instead of being hacked, what many thought it would be, the body had been sliced thoroughly with no jagged edges. Her spine was split apart, where the surroundings of the spine were not damaged in any sort of way, except for the separation.

The apartment had been checked for an instrument that could have efficiently sliced through the spine with such ease.  

Machinery, woodworking and butcher shops around town needed to be checked for any evidence that may have been connected towards Mrs Peterkin's murder.

The chilling question was how Peterkin managed to become so pale. 

Hamilton examined the driver's license one last time, examining the woman's skin tone. She seemed to slightly pale but more on the tan side. The woman must have been drained very well in order to get her skin to get so white.

Not even the split between her halves bled. 

The graphic nature of this murder was going to viral nonetheless. 

The body was quickly transferred into an ambulance, where the doors promptly shut close before gaining attention. There were already people outside of the caution tape, recording with their phones and cameras. 

The competition between the red and blue sirens and the white blinding light from the overly active cameras caused Hamilton to grow nauseous. His eyes were still strained from the day before yesterday. He stayed up awake in his pitch black room and the bright monitor that should have left him blind. But it didn't. It just left his eyes stressed and at the verge of rolling back into his head.

The man placed a hand over his mouth and felt a vile sensation running up his throat.

He threw up.

He could hear the clicking intensify and everybody was taking his regurgitation the wrong idea.

Hamilton could hear people conversing about his most recent action, driving his eardrums wild. Not only his eyes but his ears were driven to the brink of insanity. Until he felt an object feel at his back. It wasn't a rough backslap-- it was a gentle touch. 

A warm hand on his delicate spine.

Alexander straightened himself up, with some of the fluid around his mouth.

A warm smile.

"Are you okay? Do you need any water? Here, clean yourself up." The woman kindly smiled. It fetched the man's heart immediately, causing him to blush pink. Nobody could witness this and Hamilton felt selfish for being able to witness a goddess' smile. She retrieved a napkin she stashed in her right pocket and handed it to the other. She also gave him a plastic bottle of spring water.

"Eliza, I'm fine," Hamilton reassured her. He took the white, thin sheet and applied it around his lips. He cleared up the mess and wrapped the tissue into a ball before stuffing it into his pocket. 

"You just vomited on the sidewalk. Have you been staying up all night?" Eliza let out a sigh. "You need sleep, Alexander. And did you eat breakfast? Please don't tell me it's one of those frozen meals you microwave--"

"Eliza, calm down. You're acting like you're my mom..." Hamilton chuckled halfheartedly. The joke hurt him more than make him laugh.

The topic of his mother always pained him. But using painful topics was to show that he wasn't a sensitive prick-- that he could handle the truth or to show that the subject could easily be discussed and be swept away like water.

Eliza didn't seem to laugh and her frown deepened. "You didn't eat, did you?"

Alexander scratched the back of his neck. "No..." He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took four generous sips before enclosing the container.

"After this, I'm taking you out."

"On a date?" Alexander tried to make a joke and waited for the woman to laugh or smile but she didn't. He awkwardly cleared his throat to fill in the silence.

"To Peggy's." 

"I don't get why your sister decided to name her cafe after herself. Isn't that the best way to get hunted down?"

"Ton's of people do that. It's normal." She tapped Hamilton's nose with her index finger. The man retracted quickly. Her hands were so warm while his body was entirely cold. The sudden warmness made his insides all gushy.

The arrival of reporters has been awfully early this time. Alexander could spot around five of them near the crime scene, with the cameraman hoisting up his camera on his shoulder (which looked painful) and the reporter holding out his mic to any available individual in front of the caution tape.

"Here, you forgot a spot," Eliza pointed out. She tapped Alex's face gently and tilted his face to the right. She rubbed a spot of fluid on the man's face, which made him increasingly hot in and out. He felt embarrassed that his coworker had to wipe his vomit. And she didn't even seem disgusted. But considering that they both have witnessed _and_ touched revolting things.

"Oh...thanks."

"No problem." Eliza smiled. The woman turned around and walked away. 

Hamilton reached his hand up to touch the same place Eliza rubbed her soft and warm fingers on. It felt like a stain. That he _never_ wanted to wash.

He had the _tiniest_ crush on Eliza when he first met her. 

They first met at Peggy's, Eliza's youngest sister's cafe.

Alexander was getting a coffee (probably two, he couldn't remember) and he witnessed a woman being verbally attacked by a man who didn't receive his order correctly. 

Alexander managed to calm the situation when no one else would. The man eventually cooled down and agreed to replace his wrong order with a new coffee without having to repay. 

The woman he helped was named Peggy. Hamilton could already tell she was the owner. Even though Peggy ran the establishment, she wasn't very good at being confronted and was occasionally awkward and needed someone to help her out. However, she was alone at the time because most employees were off from the holidays and Peggy decided to keep the shop running by herself.

After three weeks the two became close friends.

One day, Hamilton went to go grab a coffee (he was sure it was two this time). He thought it would be a normal day until a young Asian woman introduced herself to him. She claimed to be Eliza, Peggy's second eldest sister. She was incredibly polite, kind and sweet. She wore this warm smile that could stop any rainy day. Surprisingly, Eliza wanted a job at the same place Alexander had been working. 

Of course, Hamilton agreed to take her. 

He never knew Eliza was so fond of science. She seemed like the artistic type or an elementary kindergarten teacher but that proved him wrong. As a child, she grew up in a wealthy community. She rarely experienced the wild outdoors and whenever she got the chance, she took it. She played in the mud, touched bugs, sometimes ate substances that should not have been eaten.

While her eldest sister had been involved in politics and Peggy was involved in her cafe business, Eliza decided her pathway to be part of the crime industry.

An unusual choice, especially to her family, but as long as it made her happy, they supported her. 

Two hours have passed and the investigation cleared up.

Bystanders seemed to have left and most of the reporters have gone back to their hive. Hamilton was on the verge of passing out. Those ugly bags on his face looked like they were surgically plastered onto his face, due to the number of times he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep. 

Finally... _silence_.

It was bliss to Hamilton's ears and sanity.

But he felt empty. He wanted food in his stomach or at least water. He already drank the entire bottle of water Eliza handed to him and he needed to use the little boy's room soon.

Eliza returned and found Hamilton taking a seat on the second last step of a staircase. He had been leaning his head against the railing for a few minutes until the woman tapped his shoulder.

"Good morning." She smiled brightly.

Hamilton opened his eyes. He swore-- those teeth shined as bright as the sun.

"We should get going. Peggy's store might close in a bit."

"So early?" 

"Alex, it's six." 

Had it been _that_ long? That surprised him. The work must have taken up the remainder of the day more quickly than Hamilton expected. 

"Guess we better hurry," The man stood up from the step and followed the woman as she took the lead. Eliza was slightly shorter than Alexander and might as well grow taller than him. Coffee and the lack of sleep was getting into his system.

 

* * *

 

The car ride was silent. 

But comfortable.

For Alexander, to say the least.

Eliza was nervous and was sitting at the edge of her seat. She looked far too interested at the scenery, she didn't bother turning around to speak to Alexander. 

"You okay?"

The woman jumped from her seat from the sudden voice but quickly calmed down.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Is there something lingering on your mind?"

Eliza sighed. "It's about Peggy..."

"Oh, boy," Hamilton replied sarcastically.

"It's just that-- she's been avoiding me lately. I tried calling her to let her know I was coming over. She just said "OK" and hung up. Peggy talks endlessly and she isn't the one to hang up.  She's _never_ like this." Eliza had time to process and debate during the car ride. Her mind had been flooded with thoughts and answers that could be potentially correct but these would lead to bigger questions that she couldn't solve.

"She's usually enthusiastic. Did you say anything to her?" Hamilton asked while keeping his eyes on the road.

"If anything that caused her to become so introverted, no. I don't think I said anything bad. If I did, she usually lets them slide." Eliza explained.

"She might be busy from work. Could be stressed." Alexander suggested.

"Yeah...I guess you're right. I just hope she drops this act. She's avoiding everyone like...she's _afraid_."

The pair arrived at the cafe.

Eliza selected the spot to relax, which was the one nearest to the front window. Eliza sat down her handbag onto the chair next to her, as she pulled out her phone and started checking on her appearance.

Alexander was going to go order both of them coffee and a baked pastry for each.

There was a cashier at the front and two other employees who were wiping the tables and mopping the floor. Peggy seemed to not be around. She might have been in the back. 

Hamilton ordered the items and waited around five minutes and returned back to the counter when his number was called out. He retrieved his items and made his way back to Eliza.

She seemed to have applied a light pink pigmented lipstick to her lips and adjusted her hair to a more comfortable setting. She tied it into a loose ponytail. One that outmatched Alexander's.

The woman took her drink, which was a milk-related beverage. She peeled the lid off and placed it to the side. She allowed the steam escape and added sweet condiments into her drink, before snapping the lid back onto the cup. She personally liked making her own twist, by adding tapioca to suit her tastes.

A woman came out from the back, looking rather awkward and uneasy. She acted like this wasn't her environment, even though she ran the establishment.

"Peggy!" Eliza called out.

"Hey," Hamilton waved his hand.

"Oh, uh hey," Peggy nervously replied.

"Investigation ended. I'm trying to get Alex to eat something for once." A smile plastered onto Eliza's face. She tried so hard to make it seem believable but the quirkiness got the better of it.

"That's cool," Peggy nodded her head. She grabbed a mop one of the employee's left leaning against a wall and began mopping the floor.

He could hear the door open behind him. He assumed it was just another customer but after turning his head around, he appeared to be wrong.

"Alexander," A deep and low voice called out for him. The man turned around when he familiarised the voice. 

"Uh-- yes, Washington, sir?" Hamilton stuttered. He was caught off guard that his _boss_ just waltzed in!

The tall and broad man approached him. Washington was bigger than Alexander in both height and weight. With broad shoulders, muscular calves and thighs and perhaps a pack underneath that shirt of his; he was practically ripped. He must have done some sort of training to get that body. Alex wouldn't be surprised if he did yoga.

Despite his intimidating demeanour, he was wise and gentle.

"Good evening, miss Schuyler." Washington smiled as he looked over at her.

"Good evening to you too, sir," Eliza replied and flashed him a smile in return.

"And I take it you are...?" He trailed off, his eyes glancing towards the younger of the other two. 

"Oh, uh, I'm Peggy Schuyler, Eliza's younger sister." The woman stood up and extended her hand. Washington shook it.

"May I have a word with you?" Washington turned towards Hamilton.

"Of course, sir." Alexander didn't-- and also couldn't-- decline. A shiver ran up his spine and goosebumps trailed along his arms. He felt his heart pounding inside his chest and he could _hear_ it.

As the two exited the building, Peggy returned back to work, leaving Eliza by herself. 

"Hey, have you spoken with Ang-"

"Nope." Peggy cut her sister off before she could finish her sentence.

Eliza sighed.

Washington walked over to a vehicle and opened the door for Hamilton. The investigator entered and followed by Washington. 

The only sound available was Alex's heart beating. He hoped that Washington couldn't hear.

The car muted outside noise and had glass tinted windows that prevented the public from peeking inside. The sunlight didn't transfer its rays inside of the vehicle that much than a normal one. The windows were special and were particularly bulletproof.

"What is it that you would like to tell me, sir?" Hamilton questioned.

Washington let out a sigh. "I know you are not fond of newcomers," he began.

_At least he wasn't getting fired._

Alexander let out an annoyed groan. Newbies were a pain in the rear and most of them were either that awkward type who didn't know how to operate anything or those ones who think they can do anything because mommy and daddy got their backs.

"Please don't say what I think you are going to say..." Hamilton leaned his head back against the cushion behind his skull.

"Don't worry, son, it isn't like last time--"

"He broke the coffee machine... _twice_! I had to buy coffee from that one coffee shop and you know it's utter crap!" Hamilton burst out. "And that one girl.  How did she even pass high school!?"

"I was informed she managed to bribe the principal with money into changing her grades," Washington answered.

_"People and big money..."_ Hamilton didn't say that. Washington was a man of "big money" and he lived a luxurious life. However, he differentiated from others because he didn't use his money for expensive products. He lived in a decent apartment with a lovely wife and pet cat.

"Don't worry, he isn't bad."

_"God, no, I thought taking in Charles Lee was enough..."_ Alex thought.

"He is a man around his late twenty's,"

_"Oh boy..."_

"he has earned a medical school, criminal justice and forensic science degree,"

_"Well, not bad..."_

"he is excellent in communication, interpersonal skills and he has high levels of the mathematics, science and psychical field,"

_"He seems pretty good..."_

"and he's come from Virginia."

"...Come again?" Hamilton questioned in disbelief.

"I recognise your negativity towards southerners. However, this isn't about you. We're here to solve crimes. His skills vary amongst many diverse fields that are very notable. And besides, I believe you two can get along." Washington chuckled.

"What!?" Alexander cried out. "That's impossible, sir. We will have _nothing_ in common."

"Both of you can speak French fluently and received a criminal justice degree." Washington pointed out. There were more materials that he could have covered but those were the necessary ones he specified.

Alex crossed his arms. "Anyone can learn French..."  He muttered. Hamilton couldn't handle the feeling of jealousy. He understood French fluently _and_ English _and_ Spanish. He should be on the top of his game but this _man_ was taking his place.

"Additionally, he is applying as a crime scene investigator."

Ignoring that, Hamilton asked, "What is his name anyway?"

"His name is--"

"Sir!" A voice faintly called out from outside the vehicle.

The car door opened on Hamilton's side. He almost slipped out but he caught himself from the handle at the car's ceiling.

"Sir, there is an emergency!" The man emitted. "You must arrive back as soon as possible!"

"Is it that urgent?"

"Yes, sir! It involves the forensic department!"

"Can it not hold?"

"My sincerest apologies, this is immediate."

Washington let out a sigh of defeat. "I'm sorry, Alexander, but we'll have to continue this conversation later."

"No, sir, I understand that you are busy." He exited the vehicle and stepped onto the sidewalk. He watched as the man made his way to the driver seat. The engines roared immensely and the car had already taken off.

Alexander watched as the car drove off at a quick pace. Perhaps too quickly. The man turned around back to the cafe and entered. He saw Peggy and Eliza chatting with each other. He saw the eldest sister smack the youngest after she made a pun or joke.

"Oh, you're back!" Eliza smiled. "How did it go with Washington?"

"We're getting a newbie."

"Oh! That's great! What field is he working in?" 

"He's applying as a crime scene investigator like us. Washington told me he's really intelligent. He's got like...a ton of degrees. He's come from Virginia." He mumbled the last part.

"What's his name?" Eliza asked.

Alex shrugged. "I asked, but Washington had to leave."

"For what?"

"Something urgent in the forensic department. He had to be there immediately. I can only assume the worse of possibilities." Alexander took his seat next to Eliza.

Eliza cocked her head to the side. "What're you talking about? All of us would be informed about an emergency. Even if we aren't part of the same department, we would still be notified."

Hamilton paused. He quickly checked his phone, looking for a message from a friend who worked in the forensic department. He hadn't gotten a message. Whenever something did happen, the two would contact each other to let them be conscious of the situation. And besides, Laurens hasn't texted him since yesterday.

"Alexander...who was the driver?"

There was a reason why those windows were bulletproof.

Washington had been an important figure for _years_ of the crime industry. Working under him was a blessing.

Eliza's blood ran cold and so did Alexander's. The elephant filled the room rather than voices. The two did not want to accept what they had in mind but it was a subject they needed to discuss.

Peggy perked her head up. She looked back and forth from Eliza and Hamilton, receiving a strange vibe between the two. Her expression twisted into a form of discomfort and uneasiness. She didn't want to interfere, nor did be involved part of the conversation. 

"I'll be in the back. If anything happens, call me..." Peggy stood from her seat and snuck her way into the back room.

Before Alexander could describe, Eliza grabbed her phone at her right and promptly tapped to her contacts. She selected her boss' name and hooked him up on the line. She could hear the car strolling along the road and the faint sound of Washington's breath.

"Eliza?" He seemed confused. "What's wrong?"

"Sir, I think you need to get out of the car right this instant." Eliza blurted out.

"What on _earth_ are you talking about?" He replied.

"I don't think the emergency is real. _None_ of us has been notified. Alexander would have gotten a message from Laurens if anything did happen." Eliza explained.

Washington's phone was pulled away from his face and put onto his lap. He called out for the driver but he didn't respond. Instead, the pace of the car drove past the speed limit.

Way above the speed limit.

"Sir?" Eliza's voice asked, with her tone filled with fear and anxiety.

Without a response, Eliza could hear the sound of shuffling and the click of the seatbelt release. The man desperately tried for his escape and tried prying the car handle but to no avail. She heard the sound of a hand banging on the window and then a voice emitted.

"Open this door _immediately--!"_

The line cut at the sound of a loud crash.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two: Coq au Vin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Madness shared by two,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for the most horrible chapter but it'll get better when it gets darker ;;
> 
> enjoy!
> 
>    
> Warnings: Gore, character death and illness.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**March 25, 2019, prior to the crash**

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh, Thomas! This is delicious!" 

"I'm glad it acquires to your taste," Thomas replied.

The pair dined in a large, extravagant dining room, where a crystal chandelier, adorned with pieces of glimmering gold, decorated the room with its lavishing colours. The silverware had delicate designs carved into the handles and the furniture was comfortable and expensive. Paintings were posted on every four walls, displaying the homeowner himself and his relatives.

Virginia was the state of big money.

"You never fail to amaze me." The Frenchman commented.

The mansion appeared to be already magnificent by its physical appearance but the interior was richer. The dark wood floors were shiny and spotless and there seemed to be nothing considered "ugly" in plain sight. The homeowner had an _excellent_ sense of style. The furniture had a mix of modern and Victorian. The foundation laid upon a hill that sat in the surrounding of a forest filled with trees.

"Coq au vin, isn't it?" 

There was a dark glint in Thomas' eyes for half a second before replying,

" _Yes_."

"What did you braise this meat with?" The man tapped the tip of his prongs against a delicate and tender piece of meat lying in the middle of his plate. "I must try this at home." 

"Wine, mushrooms and lardons," Thomas revealed. He seemed to have already finished his meal, as his fork and knife laid at a 4-5 o'clock angle, with the utensils sitting beside each other.

The Frenchman clicked his tongue in disappointment. "If only I were a great chef like you..."

Thomas chuckled darkly in response. A question had lingered in his mind for quite a while and since the Frenchman arrived from New York, he wanted to ask, "How is New York?"

"Not too bad. But you have to get used to the constant car honking and crowded streets. I am used to it." He finished up the remaining pieces left on his plate.

"Lafayette, you haven't been back for three weeks," Thomas argued. Lafayette has been on vacation for quite a while and already developed a taste for the peace and quiet out in the middle of nowhere.

The Frenchman picked up a small plastic container that consisted of toothpicks. He unscrewed the cap off and randomly selected one of the thin pieces of wood. He unveiled his pearly whites and cleaned away at any imperfections.

"I'll get back into the routine, don't you worry." He said while picking at an ugly green colour stuck between his teeth.

"Laf, _stop_. Do that somewhere else. It's revolting." The man hissed in disgust. His eyes showed poison that reached Lafayette's gaze but it didn't take effect. In fact, he seemed immune.

"What? I do this all the time! Get used to it. Besides, you're moving to New York. Least you know what will get on your nerves." Lafayette pulled out his phone and went to his camera and flipped it to face himself.

"I forgot to ask about your coworkers. I'd like to know, especially on the first day." Thomas stood up from his chair and collected the empty plates on the dinner table. He carefully placed the utensils on the top plate to avoid any of them falling during their trip.

"There aren't many people I know closely in _my_ department, except for Aaron Burr. He works as a criminal profiler just like me. He has a wife named Theodosia and a daughter who goes by the same initial. She's abroad in Europe to study law." Lafayette answered.

Thomas arrived at the kitchen. "Anyone else?"

"My best friend, Hercules Mulligan, specialises in criminal analysation. John Laurens is a forensic artist that works in the forensic department. And Eliza Schuyler is a crime scene investigator. Hamilton is too, but he also is an FBI agent." Lafayette grabbed a napkin that laid to his right and wiped the material on and around his lips to catch any sauces or tiny pieces on his skin.

Thomas' eyes twinkled.

That name sounded familiar. He recollected the name of a man by "Hamilton" after Lafayette once mentioned his political views-- whereas, Jefferson completely disagreed with. He couldn't believe he spoke for an hour about how _wrong_ the guy was. 

"Alexander Hamilton? I think you told me a lot about him before." 

"Oh! Yes, he's Washington's "son". Not literally, but he's treated like one. I don't know _how_ he managed to earn his respect and attention." Lafayette's tongue spoke with venomous envy.

"Envious?" Thomas formed a half-smirk while peering his eyes up at Lafayette. He slipped on a pair of red rubber gloves and poured a generous amount of soap onto a sponge. He turned on the tap to a moderate temperature and began scrubbing at the remaining small food scraps and sauces.

Lafayette took a moment to understand that English word, before emitting, "Non!" He repeated that three times. "Of course not! Alex is my close friend! Not as much as Hercules-- but he's up on the list."

Thomas let out a sigh. 

The atmosphere grew cold and content. The pain in the air inflicted the pair, causing them to grow quiet. The humour had left the room. The water ran from the faucet and pooled in the sink, due to the blockage from a pot lying in the middle of the drain. Eventually, Thomas had to remove the pot. He felt a cold sensation trail from his hands and down his fingertips, to only realise the opening of his gloves have been collecting water.

"Thomas, don't be so down. I promise there will be something. Something _spectacular_!" Lafayette encouraged. A grin played on the Frenchman's face, hinting at a discrete thought. 

"Do you really think so?" Thomas asked in disbelief. His eyes kept focused on cleaning a plate. He watched the foam and bubbles slide off the plate and hit the bottom of the metallic sink.

Lafayette stood up from his chair, producing an unpleasant groaning sound from the legs. He approached the kitchen, watching Thomas clean the dishes, silverware and glasses.

"Madness shared by two,"

The Frenchman picked up a knife that laid flat in the sink. He could only assume this was used to slice the mushrooms and fatty bacon. He examined the quality of the instrument, observing its sharpness and durability. He fooled around with the potential weapon, turning it around in different degrees and angles that could have poked him in the eye if he were not careful.

"Besides," Lafayette uttered.

Thomas stopped scrubbing and made a predatory stare at the knife.

"New York is known for having a lot of people."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**April 1, 2019, after the crash**

 

 

* * *

 

 

This _has_ to be an April Fools joke.

It has to be.

Even though the car accident happened the day before yesterday.

Hamilton had been around too many sirens, that he memorized the pitch enough. He could play it on the piano if he wished to. 

The investigation of the car "accident" had lasted for a day. The driver seemed to have unleashed an airbag, preventing further damage towards his body. He fled the scene before anybody could catch up to him.

George Washington fell unconscious before the police arrived and his body had been transported to an ambulance and rushed to the ER.

Alexander had been panicking about his boss and stressing about the collision. He didn't take breaks in between and continued working himself through the bone. His bags deepened, his stomach growled and his limbs were weak.

Eliza somehow looked fresh and healthy, even though she hadn't slept for a day.

It turns out she had been conversing with a woman who had been surrounded by five bodies guards that looked similar to the ones from Men in Black. The five created a circle and surrounded the two women. They were eating sandwiches to replenish their hunger and health. The person Eliza was talking to was a tall woman-- taller than Alexander. Alex was an average 5'7 but the lady was around 5'8 to 5'9. She wore heels that made her look 6'0.

As Hamilton approached, one of the bodyguards' stepped forward and blocked his approach.

From the sudden movement, an Asian woman within the circle noticed.

"Oh! He's with us!" She emitted.

The well-built and tall man stepped out of the side, allowing Hamilton to enter. After Hamilton took a few steps forward, the bodyguard returned to his place and the circle had been patched back to its original form.

The tall woman had her arms crossed and had a judgemental glare plastered onto her face. Next to her was a happy, innocent and sweet looking Eliza.

"Who is this?" The woman sought out.

"This is Alex. The man I've been telling you about," Eliza responded.

A sense of insecurity and self-consciousness pooled his stomach. What had Eliza been talking about? About _him_? 

"I don't think we properly met. Angelica Schuyler," The woman ejected her hand.

Hamilton blinked at the sudden introduction. "Uh, Alexander Hamilton." He shook her hand.

The woman's face stayed the same; serious. Her expression didn't change into a face of disgust while shaking his hand, therefore relieving Alexander. His palms were grossly sweaty and he forgot to wipe them beforehand. Angelica held a strong, intimidating demeanour that Alexander didn't want to mess around with. She had the looks of a goddess but the characteristics of a K9.

"My sister told me you work alongside her. Is that true?" Angelica questioned.

"Yes," Hamilton nodded his head.

"How long have you been working as a crime scene investigator?" She added.

"Around...more than ten years or so?" Hamilton actually questioned himself rather than answer the woman. He couldn't remember when he started investigating-- but it was since he arrived in New York from his hometown.

"Ten years? How old's this kid?" Angelica leaned forward-- rather too closely for Alex's face, causing him to grow uncomfortable.

"Angie!" Eliza exclaimed. "Stop! And you're frightening him..." She hissed under her breath while eyeing her sister who rolled her eyes in response. Hamilton seemed to have already broken a sweat and stiffened when he got called out. His cheeks were a bright red colour, due to embarrassment. 

Angelica let out a hearty laugh her self-satisfied smile plastered proudly on her face.

"Alex, I'm sorry. Angie just likes playing around," Eliza nudged her sister, rather harshly, into her side, while keeping an innocent smile. "I was going to introduce you to her but she's been in Europe for important political businesses."

Alexander decided to change the subject. "No, it's alright. I recently turned twenty-nine in January. And, hey, I think the wreckage is being cleared out now." 

"Huh. Would you look at that," Angelica slipped her fingers into her pockets while looking over at the disaster in the distance. "I better get going. Political stuff." The woman ruffled her little sister's head, causing her black strands of hair to tangle and grow into a mess. Eliza pouted and removed Angelica's hand away from her head.

"I'll see you next week," Eliza smiled while giving her sister a small wave.

Angelica's heels clicked away and the sound seemed to fade the further she got. She slipped into a vehicle while being protected by her bodyguards. The car collected the remaining few bodyguards and drove away immediately after all of them entered.

Hamilton shuddered. "She's scary..." 

But of course, Angelica had to be scary. She ought to intimidate her competitors. But under her sheet of intimidation, she was a sweet sister, who loved her two other sisters dearly.

"Come, I'll treat you at Peggy's," Eliza stated.

"Oh, no, you don't have to--"

"Please, it's my treat." Before Alex could argue, the woman already walked away and towards her vehicle. The man let out a sigh of defeat and followed after her. A pool of guilt filled his stomach. He felt cruel for allowing a sweet little lady to treat him food, in which he could have paid for himself.

"How's Peggy?" 

"Still the same. She hasn't changed much. I tried asking her what was on her mind and she just shrugged it off."

"Don't worry about it. I promise she'll return back to normal in a snap."

He hoped.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**April 5, 2019**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_**THE DIVIDER STRIKES BACK!** _

 

 

 

The article title sounded like one of those old-timey newspaper reports.

It had been already a few days and another murder occurred last night. What Hamilton could assume, that the murderer last time must have committed another crime but to another person.

A journalist had already been on the scoop before Alexander could even get his hands on. If only the person didn't make it seem so carefree and exciting that another murder in New York had occurred. From the looks of it, the same murderer that killed the previous woman recently had done it again. The reporter must have taken a quick photo before jolting out of the crime scene. 

Alexander grabbed onto the inner door handle and pulled at it until it popped the car door open. He pushed the door until it widened at its limit. He stepped out, placing both of his feet onto the sidewalk, before closing the door on his way out.

The commotion gathered at an alleyway, where rows upon rows of caution tape laid at the entrance. Hamilton's eyes laid upon a sight of police officers at the front. They protected the investigation from any bystanders, journalists and reporters.

As Alexander approached, he whispered his full name close to the officer's ear. He wanted to protect his identity but also wanted the man to hear him clearly, so he didn't have to repeat it twice. Judging by the crowd behind them, it wasn't going to be anymore quieter. He showed his ID holder, which held his license and personal information. The man stepped aside, allowing Hamilton to roam freely.

Eliza was already at the scene and seemed to be wearing a face mask and gloves. And so did everybody else.

The scent was _horrendous_.

There were flies feasting on what was on the pavement and the smell of rot filled the air. Alexander held his breath and struggled to move closer.

Eliza held an extra face mask and pair of gloves that she held onto, waiting for Hamilton's arrival. Without a word, she handed the items to him and he immediately applied them on. He couldn't smell the scent as much but it still lingered around.

"God..." Hamilton whispered. His eyes gazed upon a horrific sight.

On the concrete, there were cubes of flesh scattered everywhere, with the skin facing up. The cubes were approximately one inch long in height, length and width. It looked like the flesh came from a man, due to the lack of extended breasts and feminine body shape. Only the front side of the man had been sliced, rather than the entire body. The rest of the corpse must have been dumped somewhere.

The pieces of flesh were diced so perfectly, that a professional chef could have done the job.

That idea stuck with Alex for the remainder of the day.

"It's a _puzzle_."

All eyes focused on Alexander. 

There was a purpose behind the scene. What person would leave out a collection of cut out cubes-- with dimensions that are practically the same size, width and length-- and leave it out in the open? A person would not spend that much time and effort into creating a three-dimensional shape for no reason.

Hamilton crouched down, taking a closer look at the flesh cubes. They were already starting to rot and flies were gathering at each separate three-dimensional cubes. He searched around for a certain body part and laid his eyes on the one at his far right.

"That one is the belly button." Hamilton could assume the one at the left-hand corner was the nipple. "These need to be shipped into the laboratory for more investigation."

"But why a jigsaw puzzle? What could inspire someone to make such a thing?" Eliza wondered. 

"Not really a _puzzle_ , but metaphorically, he's trying to get us to build his dinosaur skeleton."

"So he's toying with us," Eliza declared.

"Basically," Hamilton nodded. He rose from his crouching position.

"I just...don't get the motivation..." Eliza crossed her arms. She didn't take her eyes off of the cubes and watched them being shipped away into a vehicle.

"There isn't any. It's just a game for his own satisfaction." Hamilton answered a question that probably wasn't even directed towards him-- nor even a question in the first place.

As the lingering scent started fading away, Alexander removed his face mask and held it in his right hand. He removed his gloves in the process, adding it into the collection. The evidence had been collected and investigators were free to leave and return back to work. 

The pieces were collected carefully, kept into custody and preserved before they could start rotting even further. From the looks of it, the pieces have been there since last night or in the early morning. Someone could have snuck into the alleyway to place the pieces in that location.

Eliza watched as Hamilton walked out of the alleyway and avoided camera flashes by blocking his vision with his arm. Instinctively, she wanted to defend him and provide him necessities, but for some odd reason, she didn't run after him.

She took Hamilton's words into consideration. 

 

* * *

 

 

**April 6, 2019**

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alexander was busy on an assignment that had been handed to him from Washington before the collision. There were stacks of paper lined up on top of each other in an unorganized manner. His hunched his poor back while leaning close to his laptop.

He had been recently informed after entering his office, that a man had filled in as a temporary boss until Washington's return. He didn't know who exactly that person was and he crossed his fingers as a wish for a good substitute.

His ears picked up the sound of a click and creaking.

"Monsieur Hamilton!" A familiar French accent sounded in Alexander's office, causing him to jerk his head up.

"Monsieur Lafayette!" Hamilton smiled, seeing his favourite Frenchman. "You're back!"

"Oui," Lafayette smiled.

"You should've texted me before coming over. I could've gotten this place cleaned up." Hamilton admired the horrific disaster lying on his desk and the Frenchman followed his gaze. Lafayette blew out a low whistle, observing the copies of approximately hundreds of paperwork.

"How was France?" Alexander questioned casually. The man didn't seem phased by the amount of stress on his shoulders. He set his work aside for the meantime and wanted to catch up with his friend.

"Oh, oui..." Lafayette said mumbled. "it was wonderful!" He replied joyfully. "So, what happened while I was away?"

"A lot. There was an incident with Washington..." Hamilton trailed off.

"Whatever do you mean?" Lafayette quirked.

"Washington was involved in a possible assassination attempt. Thankfully, he wasn't severely injured-- but he was left with a few broken ribs and a leg fracture."

"Oh, non!" Lafayette gasped and placed a hand over his mouth.

"But he's making a fast recovery. Hopefully, he'll return soon." Hamilton yawned.

He didn't get enough sleep last night. Ever since that one particular dream that kept coming back, his sleep schedules shifted into  _fuckland._

He was in an autumn forest, surrounded by colourful trees, with only their fiery colours to terrify him until his knees buckled. The only thing predominant about his dreams was a featured stag. It had mighty antlers and the body of the animal looked strong and intimidating. However, there was a large gap between them. Alexander could consider it as a deep ravine that held nothing but pitch black.

Hamilton couldn't get close to contact with the creature. The empty gap that stretched hundreds of miles, caused their connection to become non-existent. The stag stared at him, almost in a mocking way. It didn't bother leaping over to Hamilton's side, despite having long and powerful legs.

It watched.

And it never stopped _watching_.

He tried yelling at it to get its attention. There were fruitless attempts of jumping over the gap, but he would be swallowed by the ravine's darkness and wake up in a cold sweat.

Hell, he even went to a _gipsy_. She claimed there was a dark evil lurking around him and that he desperately needed help. Only for two-hundred dollars in exchange for advice (in which Alexander clearly declined to pay). And double that for a pendant that looked like it was made out of Dollarstore material. 

"Is there any work for me to catch up on?" Lafayette strolled over towards Hamilton's desk and sat at the edge of it and avoided sitting on important documents.

"There's a new murderer that's getting a lot of attention," Hamilton commented.

"Ah, yes. I heard about him. The Divider, non?" He raised his right brow.

Hamilton hummed in agreement. "Burr's gathering data about the guy. It'll be more efficient since you're here."

Lafayette nodded his head. "That's good. Say, where is he?"

"Actually, I think he's taking the day off today. He went to go see his wife. I'm not sure if you received the recent news about Theodosia."

"Ah, yes," Lafayette began. "Hercules told me about it around a week ago."

An illness grabbed Theodosia by the hand and dragged her into a building that constantly smelled of chlorine. She had laid a bed that she couldn't claim as hers. Burr had been working by himself and continuously grew quieter ever since. Her condition seemed to be worsening each day and Burr feared she was standing on death's doorstep. Theodosia kept positive, saying the hospital provided good service and the food wasn't that terrible. Burr kept reminding his wife that it wasn't a hotel, but she just shrugged it off and laughed.

She was absolutely optimistic, while Burr stayed on behind the safe lines as a pessimist.

Two opposites attract.

"Poor Burr..." Lafayette uttered.  
  
He met Burr in university and they were best buddies. Although he annoyed the hell out of him, the two kept in touch. He remembered Burr and Theodosia dating back then and later got married a year after graduation. Alexander could still remember the day he received an invitation to his friend's wedding.

There was a knock heard on Hamilton's door. The two men turned their gazes towards the uninvited visitor. Hamilton recognized the person as Washington's secretary. 

"Mr Hamilton, you are needed in Washington's office." Her monotone voice never seemed to grasp anyone's attention.

"R...Right now?" Hamilton stuttered.

Lafayette laid respect for the conversation and kept quiet.

The woman nodded her head, before leaving.

"Oh, god..." Alex muttered under his breath. "these reports aren't even finished." His eyes directly pointed towards a stack of paper lying at the edge of his desk.

"Oh, don't frown, petit lion. I don't think it's anything bad. And if you ever think that you'll get fired, you won't. Only Washington can do that." Lafayette crossed his arms and smiled. "Now, shoo, shoo, get moving," Lafayette ordered. He jumped off of the edge of the table and started pushing Alexander to the office's entrance. "it's better getting the hard stuff out of the way. And maybe I'll give you a souvenir after you return." The man suggested.

All of Lafayette's knick-knacks always seemed to impress Hamilton. He had a full collection of French artefacts in a little box that had been tucked underneath his desk at home.

Alexander couldn't decline such a gift given for free.

"Fine..." Hamilton grumbled, before stepping foot outside. The door behind him closed instantly as soon as he exited.

Alexander knew in the back of his head, that Lafayette was going to organize all of his worksheets. He heard shuffling inside the room and footsteps scrapping against the carpet. He always adjusted Hamilton's outfit, by ironing the wrinkles out of his clothes or adjusting his collar and tie. There were times he had to clean up Alexander's messes that Alex didn't bother tidying up.

Lafayette was an absolute _neat freak._  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alexander was hesitant to enter his boss' office. His hands were shaking like caffeine running through his veins. He heard his heart thumping inside his chest and it was the only sound he could hear. It had been a while ever since the car incident. Alexander couldn't help it but feel guilty. If he had paid attention and used his common sense-- Washington would have never been rushed to the hospital.

It was _his_ fault.

He swallowed and took in a deep breath, before grabbing onto the doorknob and twisting it all the way until he heard a click. He kept his head lowered, even though he never did this to Washington. But again, he didn't know this new boss.

"Sir, I--"

"Oh, Hamilton. You're here. "

That _voice_.

It wasn't low and deep like Washington's. It was rather higher and obnoxious. Hamilton faced forward, seeing the last person he would ever consider sitting on Washington's office chair.

His eyes widened as big as saucers and he was at a loss of words. His jaw dropped and every sound he tried forming, stuck to his throat.

_"...What..."_

"I guess Washington put me in charge. Looks like I'm the boss, now, huh?" His voice was slimy and oozed with venom.

_"...the..."_

"Hey, I hope you don't mind-- but can you get me a coffee?" Charles Lee cackled.

_"...fuuuuuuuuu-"_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *inserts pepe silvia meme*


	3. Chapter Three: Quiche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton awoke from his deep slumber at the sound of knocking at his front door. He rubbed his eyes to get a better view of his alarm clock.
> 
> "...Five thirty?" He muttered under his breath. Who could be knocking at his front door at this time?
> 
> He didn't bother dressing up decently and instead wore grey shorts that reached his lower thighs and a white t-shirt that needed to be washed immediately. He slowly trudged his way through the pile of books, laundry and other objects lying in his hallway. 
> 
> Hamilton couldn't be bothered to look through the door's peeping hole and opened the entrance widely.
> 
> "Hello."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE GOOD CUSH 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Nightmares and references to anti-anxiety medication use.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**April 10, 2019**

 

 

 

* * *

 

_His feet near's his doorstep._

_He leaves his own life for another's._

_Dare betray the trust of many._

_A mouthful of individuals made plenty._

**I'd like to know more about you.**

 

 

* * *

 

 

He stood idle in the waiting room, ignoring all of the stares that have come across his tall posture. He arrived particularly early so that traffic didn't have to pull him down. He raised his right arm and bent it at the elbow and stared down at his wristwatch. He was one of the old fellows who still used a watch and could actually read the time.

He waited for the nurse to return, who gave him a smile of approval. 

He accompanied her rear, leaving trails of clicks behind every step. The tile floor was scrubbed with the scent of strong lemons to cover any evidence of chlorine. The floor had been recently mopped, as the reflection of the ceiling lights reflected off the tiles like a sunray.

He peeled his eyes up, seeing the nurse grab hold onto a door handle. She twisted the handle and pushed the door away from her body.

"Ah, you must be Thomas Jefferson. Please, come in."

The patient lowered his book onto his lap. He welcomed the man with a smile and bestowed his fascinating tooth gap.

The visitor followed as invited and took a few slow steps forward. He heard a soft click close behind his back and even softer clicks of the nurse's footsteps.

He observed the room, inhaling air that wasn't infected with chlorine. He noticed a chair lying by the patient and he grabbed for it. He didn't scratch the legs against the ground, rather politely lifted it up to prevent a bad first impression. His coat hung over his right arm and the Virginian's shoes clicked as he walked closer.

The tall man wore black dress pants that ended near his ankles and black boots to fit in with his lower half. His upper half included a buttoned-up dark green vest and a bow tie, right above his collarbone. To finish it off, he wore rectangular black rimmed glasses that suited his face.

"Make yourself comfortable."

The visitor nodded his head and obliged. He placed his coat neatly on the back of the chair.

"How are you?" Washington questioned.

"I should be asking you that, sir,"

Washington followed along with a small laugh. "Please, call me George. And to confirm, I am doing fine. Just a fracture and a few broken ribs. It is nothing to be worried about."

Jefferson's eyes drifted downward and glanced at the book that had been placed paper first as a temporary bookmark. From his point of view, he could read a large print in capital letters, screaming " _COMMON SENSE_ " and a smaller font at the bottom right-hand corner, reading " _Thomas Paine_ ". Thomas could only assume that that was the author of the novel.

"I see you've taken an interest," Washington lifted the book from his lap and placed his thumb between two chunks of pages, using that as his bookmark. The man flipped it to the front, exposing the book clearly.

Jefferson nodded his head in agreement but mentally shrugged his shoulders. By the title, he seemed to have lost interest immediately. And judging by the quality of the book, it looked old. Very old. Something Washington would read on his free time-- in which he is doing right now.

"A non-fiction novel, written by Thomas Paine. He argues about American independence. Without this, I don't think the revolution would have begun," Washington laughed. "a rather old book, but I ought you give it a try." 

Thomas leaned his right hand forward, whereas Washington handed the book over to the man. It seemed like Washington didn't mind about losing the page he was reading. Jefferson assumed he might have memorized it. He took the book and examined the novel closely. Thomas adjusted his reading glasses. The summary laid at the back of the book and Jefferson flipped it over. 

"That reminds me, why have you come here?" Washington immediately switched topics.

"One of your coworker's told me about your attempted assassination. I came as soon as I heard." Thomas claimed. 

"That's very considerate of you, Thomas."

Thomas decided to switch topics.

"Please don't take this to the faint of heart, but I primarily came here for an interview," Jefferson stated cold-heartedly, without thinking about the consequences of his straight-forward tone.

It took at least five seconds for Washington to reply. "Oh, yes, I remember. I refined the schedule and I put the date to a few weeks ahead. But I don't see why we can't do one right here. Now, tell me a little about yourself."

"My name is Thomas Jefferson, I am twenty-nine years old and I will be turning thirty in a week. I have been referred by one of your employees, Marquis de Lafayette."

"Lafayette mentioned you were a former psychiatrist and surgeon. Is that true?"

"It is."

"Why did you leave that field? It's a remarkable one. I know many who would _kill_ to be in that profession."

"I left, due to a large number of complications I had, that I could not perform at the same time with my personal life. I explain further in my portfolio, that I, unfortunately, could not bring in time. Is it alright with you that I bring it next week on Wednesday?"

"By all means," Washington stated. "now, you said you know Lafayette? How is your relationship with him?"

"Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de La Fayette? We go _decades_ back." Jefferson spoke without any imperfections.

"I occasionally refer to him as "Lafayette". But I know only one person who can say his full name flawlessly." Washington let out a hearty laugh.

Thomas' gaze turned icy. Washington didn't notice this, as he was blabbering about random topics that Thomas didn't seem interested in. He was more interested in the person who could say his closest companion's name without stuttering. 

" _Who_?"

"Alexander Hamilton, one of my most devoted workers. Even though he is dedicated to his work, I believe his health should be his number one priority." Washington clicked his tongue, upset about the truth.

"Hamilton? Gilbert mentioned him before."

"CSI. You're heading for that field, aren't you?"

Thomas nodded. 

"Hamilton is one of my oldest investigators. He's been here since the beginning. I'm sure he can show you the routes. Perhaps I could pair you two up?"

Jefferson took some time to consider that thought. He believed their partnership would end up in a disaster. Jefferson did not take Hamilton's political views for granted and regarded them as stupid.

"Of course..." Jefferson replied slowly.

What Gilbert told him, this "Hamilton" guy seemed awful. Though, Thomas would be happy to torture the living daylight out of him. Probably throw in his own political views just for the fun of it.

"You don't have to partner with him if you don't like to. I can partner you with Eliza Schuyler. She isn't very experienced but I can guarantee you, that she is one of the kind and wholesome people in the workplace."

"No, no, I prefer to have Hamilton. I'd rather learn from a more experienced person." 

"Then it's settled," Washington smiled. Behind that smile, Thomas could tell there was still a thought lingering. His raised eyebrows showed a signal of discomfort. He could read a crinkle around Washington's eyes and Thomas could immediately detect a fake smile.

"Is there something wrong?"

Washington's smile crinkled into a soft frown. "It isn't even your first day at the job and I'm already assigning you to a task. I sincerely hope you don't mind, but I need you to do me a favour,"

"Anything," Jefferson assured.

"I need your help with psychological profiling."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**April 11, 2019**

 

 

* * *

 

 

**When the fox hears the rabbit scream, he comes running, but not to help.**

**Where do you fall?**

" _This is oddly different._ " Hamilton thought to himself.

Instead of staying in one place like a frozen statue, the stag moved around like a breathing being. Out of its nostrils, it exhaled fogs of warm air into the cold season. Hamilton observed its movements, watching it look around. It observed every tree in detail, before bearing its eyes onto Alexander.

The animal took a few steps forward, at least a two or three meters away from the edge of the ravine.  

The couple looked at one another, deepening their gazes into the eyes of each other.

The stag leapt over the gap, with great power exiting its hind legs. The ground those hind hooves deepened the ground slightly, forming two ditches underneath those trotters. The animal left only its body for Hamilton to gaze at, as the moon had been blocked by the solid figure.

It only left the stag to provide Alexander with a visual. Its antlers aimed at his body, ready to plunge them into that sweet, sweet flesh of his. 

**Do you dream often, Alex?**

Hamilton jolted from his deep slumber with a loud gasp of alarm.

He heard the sound of knocking at his front door. He rubbed his eyes to get a better view of his alarm clock.

"...Five thirty?" He muttered under his breath. Who could be at his door at this time?

He didn't bother dressing up decently and instead wore grey shorts that reached his lower thighs and a white t-shirt that needed to be washed immediately. He slowly trudged his way through the pile of books, laundry and other objects lying in his hallway.

Hamilton couldn't be bothered to look through the peeping hole and opened the door widely.

"Hello."

Alexander didn't say anything.

"You must be Alexander Hamilton."

Alexander rubbed his eyes again but _frantically_ , doubting the sight in front of him. It was a well-dressed man, looking to be in his late twenty's, with a black frizzy-afro hairstyle, a gorgeous dark skin tone and dark brown eyes. His jacket had been neatly folded and hung over his right arm. 

"Who are you? Who sent you? Hamilton demanded. He didn't mean to give off such a rude tone. He wasn't a morning person.

"I am Thomas Jefferson and I was addressed by Washington to live with you." He replied bluntly.

Hamilton couldn't find the words to express, before blurting out, " _What_!?"

The two heard the door click right beside them, showing one of Alexander's neighbours.

"If y'all got somethin' to talk about, at least do it quietly!" The neighbour, hypocritically, yelled out, before slamming the door shut. Before the neighbour's dramatic exit, Thomas grabbed a quick description of the man. He wore a white tank top, covered in what seems to be grease stains, to be around his late forty's or fifty's, a beer belly hanging out of his light blue shorts that reached his knees and to top it off, he wore dreaded socks and sandals.

"Who is he?" Jefferson asked.

"My neighbour, Jared. He's an ass and everyone knows it."

After that sentence, the two met a silence. An awkward silence according to Hamilton but Jefferson didn't seem phased at all. But hiddenly, his anger gravitated towards the man next door and that man tampered his nerves.

Alex sighed and stepped away to give the other man room to enter.

Thomas entered. Hamilton stole a glance while turning his head to the right slightly and peered his eyes down. He looked to see a held black bag in Jefferson's right hand and ruling by the bag's appearance, something weighed down the bottom of it but Hamilton didn't want to intrude. 

After going through the doorframe, he observed Alexander's apartment. His living room was a mess, with paperwork lying on the table, plastic and glass bottles lying on the floorboards and wrappers doused in random corners of the room.

"So, this is where you live?" Jefferson placed down the black bag onto the floor.

"Yeah. Could you stop staring?" Hamilton glowered. 

"Why?" Jefferson asked, with such an obvious question that made Alexander mentally groan.

"Because it's incredibly _rude_?" Hamilton emphasised.

"Not my fault you don't clean up," Jefferson said cockily.

Hamilton rolled his eyes. "I'm a busy guy. You better prepare yourself for stacks of pizza boxes and cans of soda."

"Soda?" Jefferson raised his brows. "We say coke."

"Wha-- who calls soda " _coke"?_ Coke is a specific brand. It doesn't apply to _all_ soft carbonated beverages."

"That's how we say it."

Of course. _Southerners_. 

"Whatever. So, Washington told you that you're living with me? Why?"

"You may have heard a bit about me. I'm the new investigator Washington hired. I've come from Virginia and I needed a place to stay. The person who referred me, a close companion of mine, Gilbert, unfortunately, did not have enough room to accommodate me."

"Can't you rent a place?" Hamilton crossed his arms.

"Washington said it's better if I were to live with you. Saves money and especially time."

"Time? I don't see why you'd worry about time."

"We ought to be on the right time-- earliest would be better. Considering, I don't own a means of transportation, you are the one to drive me."

"There are things called _subways_. What, don't have them in your southern land?"

"No, it's just that we're working together."

Hamilton choked on his own spit, letting out heaves of gasps and coughs. "Wait-- working _together_!?" Alexander shouted, before covering his mouth. "You must be mistaken. Eliza's my partner." He said quietly. 

"I don't think there was any miscommunication between Washington and I. He specifically told me to work with you."

The words stuck deep in Alexander's throat never made it out. For the first time in forever, he shut up. 

Jefferson wandered around, acting like he owned the place. He checked the kitchen, admiring the room's messy glory and rotting pieces of spaghetti sauce on one of the plate's that flies were buzzing on. A normal person would promptly back away or vomit. However, Thomas kept a cool and polite manner. He opened the fridge, revealing a one-litre carton of milk, probably expired, a package of ham that looked very reddened at the rims, by the amount of time it spent in the fridge without proper consultation. 

"There's nothing in here." Thomas declared.

"I don't eat much." Alexander rubbed his eyes in discomfort. His eating schedules were never perfect. He skipped many meals, leading him to lose weight. There were days he couldn't walk up flights of stairs and times where he couldn't stay awake and he simply passed out in the middle of a conversation or a meeting. Eliza, the kind soul, occasionally cooked him a healthy lunch to eat whenever they were at work.

"Because you're too busy buying fast food?"

"Fuck off." Similar to the ham, a colour of red appeared on Hamilton's face out of embarrassment.

Jefferson shut the door and exited the kitchen. and swivelled over to the bathroom. The door was open and to Thomas' surprise, it wasn't as bad as the kitchen. There were most things tidy. The toilet was flushed, there wasn't any neon blue toothpaste lying in the sink bowl. It was relatively clean. In general, Alexander did a good job cleaning. But, Jefferson being nit-picky, it wasn't the best job in the world.

Jefferson disliked the colouration of the shower curtains. It wasn't his taste. He preferred a darker transition, rather than plain cream yellow. A bolder shade, such as a dark magenta or maroon.

Thomas checked the cabinets, observing the usual one would see in a bathroom cabinet. He noticed a few extra toothbrushes, a razor for shaving, shaving cream and a toothpaste bottle. noticing a few bottles, labelled with words some people may not enjoy speaking out publicly.

Jefferson picked up one bottle, reading the large printed text.

_ANTI-ANXIETY MEDICATION._

Judging by the appearance, there were a few pills missing from the cylindrical container. Jefferson could immediately assume the pills were consumed by a certain someone.

Why would Hamilton need this?

Alexander seemed to be a hot-headed type of person and he couldn't possibly care about someone else's judgment on him. But, then again, he did demand Thomas to stop eyeing his housing like candy.

"What're you doing? Have you ever heard of the phrase, " _don't peek in someone else's belongings_ "?" Hamilton snatched the bottle of pills from Thomas' hand and placed it back to where it belonged.

"Why do you have that?"

"It's nothing."

"I read the label."

"For fuck's sake..." Hamilton muttered and slammed the cabinet door shut. "I said it's _nothing._ Why do you care in the first place? We've already had a shitty introduction and I can _tell_ you hate my ass--" Alex turned his head around, seeing as Thomas was much closer than before.

"I'll ask you again," Thomas' tone grew low. A shiver ran down Hamilton's spine, provoking him to take a few steps back.

"Hey..." Hamilton quirked a nervous smile, that eventually turned down a frightened frown.

"why do you have that?" He continued his sentence. His eyes grew sharp and directly pointed at the other man. 

Hamilton sighed in defeat and avoided Jefferson's intimidating gaze. He pointed his eyes directly to the tiled floor.

"You read the label. I think you can tell."

Jefferson hummed, showing he was correct all along. He backed off and released the tension in the air. The Virginian stepped away from Alexander and left him space to breathe. "Is there a reason behind it?"

"Past, nightmares and work. All that jazz."

"I could help you," Thomas suggested. "I used to be a psychiatrist back in Virginia." 

Hamilton raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Why'd you drop out?" 

Silence.

Even though his curiosity lingered, Hamilton decided not to peeve into Jefferson's past. Alexander didn't like the guy-- but he wasn't a complete asshole. If Hamilton didn't want to discuss his past, he wouldn't discuss Jefferson's.

Hamilton bit the right side of his inner cheek to keep himself from yelling. Especially five in the morning, where his neighbours (especially Jared) would love to kick his ass and try filing a noise complaint. 

"You can sit over there," Hamilton gestured to the couch, before realising its condition. Stacks of paper piling on top of each other, a blanket he used to sleep on the couch for many nights and crumbs between the nooks and cracks of the cushions. Hamilton immediately went to work on cleaning it out and removed the stacks of sheets and placed them on the floor. He shoved the blanket to the left side, clearing a perfectly good spot on the right side.

Whenever Alexander invited coworkers over, they always declined. At the sight of his apartment, they would make excuses, claiming "there was no need" or "it's alright, I'll find another place". He eventually stopped inviting people over, leading him to lose control of himself. He stopped throwing away takeout, leaving the plates unwashed and the lack of brooming the floors. Without anyone out there to judge him, he could do whatever he wanted indoors.

Alex heard the soft sound of metal scraping against the floorboards. He raised his head, noticing Thomas, who grabbed a chair from the dining room. After dragging it, he then lifted it up, to avoid scratching the floor. 

Alexander decided to stop cleaning up, as it looked like Thomas wanted to sit on the chair instead.

While making his way over, Thomas claimed his bag near the entrance of the apartment door and held it in his right hand. He settled the chair on the other side of the table, opposite to where Alexander chose to sit.

The black bag had been placed on top of the table. He removed the contents inside, revealing a container, with a warm and crusty texture that pressed against the sides. 

Hamilton peered down at the setting of "breakfast" Jefferson so claimed.

"What is this?"

"Breakfast."

Alexander rolled his eyes. "No-- what is _this_?" He lifted his hand and pointed his index finger at the rectangular, glass container.

"Quiche. Would you like some?" Thomas invited. He wasn't affected by Alexander's eye-roll. He stayed calm and quiet while keeping a calm and collected demeanour. He folded the empty black bag and neatly arranged it under his chair.

Hamilton stared at the food for an awfully long time. He remembered not eating dinner or lunch yesterday-- and even today, he planned not to eat. He ate the last piece of bread he had in his kitchen, leaving him with only ice to extract from the freezer. Eliza was the one usually preparing him with a meal to eat. Without her, he was just a hungry mess.

Alexander accepted the invitation and sat down on his couch. Thomas already pulled up a chair he found by the living space (only two were available and he picked the best one). 

Jefferson popped the side clamps up and removed the lid of the container. The smell of fresh food immediately hit Alexander like a truck. He didn't remember the smell of eggs in so long, that it strangely affected him. Steam drifted from the quiche, revealing that Jefferson made this breakfast quickly enough, so he could get to Alexander's apartment complex as soon as possible.

A pool of guilt filled Hamilton's stomach, enough he didn't feel like eating.

Thomas had already retrieved a clean plate from Hamilton's kitchen, with a few chips at the edges. But he didn't mind. Thomas laid a more-than-generous amount on Alexander's plate. Just by looking at the man, Jefferson could already tell he did not have a coordinated eating schedule.

Jefferson lifted his fork, slicing the side of it down the tip of the quiche. He ate from the container-- which was fine by him. He penetrated his four-pronged fork and gathered a scramble of fluffy, yellow eggs.  

"You made this?" Hamilton asked with disbelief. 

"Indeed I did."

" _How_?" Alexander questioned, flabbergasted. Thomas seemed amused by Hamilton's confused and surprised state.

"My mother was fond of cooking. She taught me at a young age. I never took culinary as a career choice, as my father wished that I become a politician. Unfortunately, I decided to become a surgeon and I also took part as a psychiatrist. I couldn't serve both, so I departed."

"That's kind of stupid if you ask me," Hamilton said, before entering a forkful of quiche into his mouth.

"Take what you will."

After the Virginian's sentence, it left a silence in the room. It wasn't unsettling or cold, it just felt uncomfortable. The atmosphere needed a little touch-up and enthusiasm. As Alexander had his eyes glued to his plate, Thomas took the time to investigate Alexander's apartment.

"Something you're not wrong about," Jefferson broke the silence.

"I beg your pardon?" 

"You're right. It was a stupid decision of mine." The Virginian smiled. It was the first human reaction Alexander managed to get out of him.

The topic drifted away from their conversation, as Jefferson moved onto a different one. He took the opportunity when Alexander lowered his face down to his plate. Jefferson noticed a bookshelf near the dining room and spotted knick-knacks that were covered in dust.

"Are those yours?" Thomas gestured to the top of the bookshelf. Alexander jerked his head up and followed the other man's index finger, noticing the figurines Lafayette occasionally bought him.

"Oh, yeah. Lafayette buys me those whenever he's in France. I'm trying to get a full collection."

Thomas stopped to think before replying. He chuckled at the thought of Lafayette. "You look like the type to collect books, rather than figurines," Jefferson admitted.

"Actually, you're not wrong," Hamilton ate another mouthful. "I have a collection in my bedroom."

"Really? You ought to show me one day."

Alexander smiled and laughed. He continued rambling on, oblivious from Jefferson's half-lidded gaze. 

"I'd like to know more about you."

Hamilton raised an amused brow.

"And perhaps you can learn more about me," Thomas added.

"I don't find you that interesting."

Alexander sliced his quiche in a smaller portion so that it could fit in his mouth in one attempt. He collected a generous amount of quiche and balanced it on top of his fork, before placing it in his mouth. 

"You will." Jefferson smiled.

Alexander remained unaware of Jefferson's gaze. His ideas were subsequently directed towards his interests and daily life, discussing topics, mainly books, that Alexander borrowed from the local library over the weekend. Jefferson only nodded his head in response. It may not seem like it, but he was definitely absorbed into Hamilton's speech. He couldn't stop _talking_.

The man spoke for nearly twenty minutes and he didn't even realise how long he had been talking. His food went cold but the man didn't seem to mind. He took a bite out of his quiche and continued talking.

Jefferson tilted his head to the side, the edges of his lips pulling up in delight.

**Nightmares are dreams, too, after all.**

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spot the foreshadowing


	4. Chapter Four: Soupe Aux Champignons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't elegant.
> 
> It had no means to be elegant.
> 
> It wanted a garden.
> 
> "It's not the same person."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this late update, I've actually gotten sick (like three weeks or so and still going), I also finished my finals (somehow while still being sick). I sincerely apologise and I literally have no excuse for this and I deeply hope that you guys can forgive me. ;;  
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Character deaths and gore

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**April 12, 2019**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Psychopaths are not crazy.**

**They are fully aware of what they do and the consequences of those actions.**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Burr signed in this morning.

The significance of this was that he hadn't been to work for a _week_. He appeared dishevelled, his tie hurriedly tied up, a wrinkled dress-shirt and buttons that were undone. His eyes said sleepless nights and his body posture said stress.

Instead of his signature, " _I hate everyone"_  demeanour, he appeared worried and agitated. He picked up his phone every time it rang, to only put it back to where it was in disappointment. 

Whenever someone tried to get in touch with him, Burr kept avoiding them and even locked the door to his office. He couldn't get much work done and the pressure of assignments and projects placed on his shoulders by Charles Lee made it _worse_. Lee didn't care about Burr's well-being.

The only time Burr withdrew from his office, was to use the restroom but to return back to his desk and confine himself between four walls.

He isolated himself during his break, preoccupied with his phone. No one witnessed him put down his phone for once.

His eyes were glued to his phone, with deep bags underneath his eyes, representing the lack of sleep. His coworkers joked he was becoming like Hamilton but they gradually stopped joking around when Burr ceased to laugh. But he never laughed at their jokes-- ever. It was just this time, it seemed dangerous to press on and inappropriate to fool around.

Aaron made it out of the breakroom after finishing his lunch that he prepared at home early in the morning.

By himself.

All alone.

No company.

Just. _Him._

"Burr!" A French accent lurked around the corner that Burr sharply took a turn around.

The man jolted after hearing his name. He couldn't recall the last time anybody addressed his name so loudly like that before. Probably because people were scared to.

Burr wasn't a man who was frightened easily. It took a lot to scare him. Just from his name being made him almost yelp and drop everything he carried.

The man let out a sigh of defeat. He knew he couldn't escape this man, even if he had taken the sharpest of turns. He rolled his eyes before turning around, seeing a tall, lanky figure in front of him. 

"What do you want?" Burr unintentionally growled. His lack of sleep must have been getting to him. He couldn't make up a word of apology because the other man immediately replied.

"Where have you been!? I haven't seen you in so long!"

"Lafayette, it's been a _week_ ," Burr responded. He slapped a thin folder on his desk that he had been tucked between his side and arm.

"An hour is long! Twenty-four hours is long _er_! And what-- you say it's been a week? You've been gone for one-hundred and sixty-eight hours! I missed you, mon ami..." Lafayette wrapped his arms around Burr's neck, forcing the man into a non-consensual hug.

Lafayette was a very affectionate person. Burr realised this since day one. Right when he stepped into that elevator and a tall man joined him, Burr knew he was going to face hell. He didn't know how much this man could talk. Lafayette spoke through the entire elevator ride and intentionally pressed all the buttons to make their time worth it. He was like that ridiculously desperate salesperson.

Burr promised himself to never see this man ever again. But what made him stick, was his preposterously long name.

_Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette._

There was no need for that long of a name. Was it a French thing?

He stuck with Lafayette for the remainder until his retirement.

Burr simply stood there, his arms stiff at his sides and refused to bring them up and caress Lafayette. Before the Frenchman could further induce his undeserving "affection" Burr pulled away before becoming a victim.

"You are no fun!" Lafayette pouted childishly.

"Lafayette, could you please get out of my office? I have work to do." Burr ordered. There was backed up work he needed to complete. Ever since _Lee_ took charge, Burr could no longer take extra days off from work. He wasn't entirely sure if that was illegal of Lee to do such a thing but he didn't want to be the first one to complain. He'd let some hotheaded loudmouth that could never shut up.

That reminded him of someone.

"Lee wanted me to give you this," Lafayette stated. He opened the right side of his coat, revealing a medium toned orange envelope. He handed it over to Burr, who took it and analysed the package. He examined the front side, seeing a few words that were told to be given to a certain someone.

The package wasn't heavy. But it was confidential. 

He opened the flap and dumped out the contents.

The pieces slid onto his desk's slippery surface, where Burr quickly caught each sheet before it fell down the table.

Burr's desk had been packed full of work he needed to work on. Lee must have ordered some poor newbie to send documents over to his office and place them onto an empty space-- let it be the table or floor. Just looking at it made him sigh. 

There were numerous sheets of paper, stacked upon each other and at the left-hand corner, stapled.

"The Divider," Burr murmured. 

"Who's that?" Lafayette peeked his face over, invading Burr's personal space while shoving his frizzy ponytail into his face. Burr pushed the Frenchman out of the way, who childishly pouted in response.

Burr examined the package, quickly skimming through the facts that were important.

"A man who has been going around slicing people into individual parts. His first murder was Sharon Peterkin, she was sliced in half and her blood drained. No one is entirely sure what the motive may have been. The second was Robert Morris, who had been recently discovered when his family came to identify him. His entire front was cut off and put into puzzle pieces." Burr briefly summarized but also detailed the murders.

"Reminds me of that movie-- what was it called, _Saw_?" Lafayette pointed out.

Burr ignored that similarity. "Numerous people claimed _they_ were The Divider and all were proven false." Burr read the beginning sentence of one of the sheets. He took another sheet, where it had a picture of a man, sitting in his forty's. He was one of the people who pretended to be The Divider. It turned out he was never the infamous serial killer and had been fined.

He saw a movement across the table and could already tell someone was sitting on top of his desk. He hung only at the edge, as he avoided knocking down Burr's work.

"He's killed two people already," Burr sat down on his swivel chair.

Lafayette took a peek at the photos. The first murder was gruesome. The second was worse. He cringed at the sight.

"Who would do such a thing?" He questioned.

"Finding the cause of their deaths isn't exactly our duty. We have professionals in the external field and forensic department to handle that." Burr claimed and he already booted up his laptop and got straight to work.

"I only asked for your opinion. It is okay, I forgive you." Lafayette smiled.

He waited for a reply but got nothing.

By receiving no reaction, Lafayette glared keenly towards Burr. Lafayette let out an inadequate huff and got off the table. He exited the room, shutting the door with a slam and left Burr by himself once again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Are we there yet...?" The boy called out. He stalked behind the other two boys, most likely his friends from school.

"Nope," The leader replied.

"Goddammit..." The other muttered under his breath.

The three ventured off deeper in the woods, clearly lost, with no guidance or adult in sight. The leader stopped in his tracks and gripped the walking stick he found while exploring the wilderness. He kept it as a walking guide but his friends knew it was to show who was the boss.

A boy with glasses glanced up at a tree, seeing thin transparent tubes strung up around the branches. The colours were easy to spot, as it was odd to see a material made by humans be out in the forest.

"Hey, what's that?" The leader questioned. Instead of the strange tubing in the middle of nowhere, his question specified towards something below their elevated cliff.

"Bet it's marijuana." One of the boy's cackled.

The boy with glasses turned around and decided to ignore the tubes. He assumed they were trash that got blown by the wind and ended up on a tree.

"They're mushrooms." The boy with glasses replied.

"What? There's a bunch of tubes here, look," The leader stuck out his long stick and used to the tip to move away a piece of shrubbery that covered the material. After pulling the greenery aside, the three stood in shock at what they witnessed. 

Half of a forearm stuck out of the dark soil, looking like it had been recently watered. Connected to that forearm, led to a wrist and connected to that wrist was a lifeless hand. It had been covered in the dust of dirt-- now wet and the pigment of the hand showed that the blood no longer circulated through the hand. A thin, metal pole stuck out from the ground and thin plastic straps had been tied around the hands and tied to the pole. 

The scent of rot became clear as day and the three boys were too shocked to cover their noses in disgust.

What was even more shocking, was how there wasn't one hand sticking out of the ground. Their eyes moved further down, seeing not one, not two...

but _nine._

Nine bodies, buried within shallow graves.

Before the three boys could choke up a word, they bolted out of the scene and reported the sight to the police.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At first, the police officers believed it was a prank. But, when arriving at the crime scene, they were proven wrong.

Nine bodies were discovered. 

The two men sat in silence while in Hamilton's car. None of them spoke a word to each other. This crime scene was urgent and there was no way in hell they could take the public transit. Besides, they were running late and they didn't want to deal with New York traffic.

The two had an argument this morning. It was a rather stupid fight. But, Hamilton was the one who primarily contributed. Something about not eating breakfast in the morning. Even though Hamilton _did_ eat Jefferson's breakfast last time but it was only out of kindness. And he did feel hungry, for countless times he skipped meals, so eating a bit in the morning wouldn't hurt. But, they were running late not because of the breakfast incident. But because some idiot forgot to set his alarm.

_"Oh, good, you're awake. I made breakfast." Thomas seated two plates on the table. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he had very recently washed his hands and arms, due to the droplets from his arms. He wore a black apron, tied around his waist. This was something Alexander never owned. Perhaps he brought it from his home back in Virginia._

_"Huh?" Alexander questioned._

_His movements were sluggish, almost like he had_ too _much sleep rather than less. He rubbed his eyes and yawned ferociously. His face twisted into one of disbelief and an apology. There were a few reasons he didn't like eating breakfast. One, is that he felt like vomiting and two, it was a waste of time._

_Hamilton noticed a cup of steaming hot coffee, black with no additives. Just the way he liked it. He knew it was his cup, by the number of coffee stains it had and on the opposing side, Jefferson's was clean and free of blemishes. It also had cream or milk, due to the light brown colouration._

_He picked it up and took a sip out of it. It didn't taste like cheap store-bought instant coffee. He smacked his lips a few times, trying to figure it out._

_"Fresh coffee beans I picked up from the farmer's market. Do you like it?" Thomas questioned._

_"Yeah...it's really good." Alex nodded his head, taking another sip._ _"What time is it?"_

_"Ten-thirty."_

_"What!?" Hamilton choked out, almost spitting out his coffee like in those cartoons. He slammed the bottom of his cup onto the dining table and a few droplets flew into the air and onto the table top."Ten thirty!? Oh my god-- we're so fucking late-- oh my fucking god..." he continued murmuring vulgar words and continuous "oh my gods"._

_"Also, Lee sent me an email that there we are to arrive at Central Park. Nine bodies were found." Thomas let those words slip out of his mouth with ease while taking a sip out of his coffee._

_"...And you didn't_ go _!?" Hamilton exclaimed. Was this guy brain-dead?_

_"I thought I'd wait for you." Before Alexander could give a response, the other man added another comment. "Moreover, I don't know my way around New York,"_

_He couldn't continue arguing with Jefferson. They had places to be._

_Hamilton quickly raced to his bedroom, checking for his alarm. He dashed his thumb for the home button and checked the time. He hoped Thomas was being an asshole and just joking around. But the chances of that man joking around was lower than five per cent. He checked for the alarm, making sure if he put it on. And to his expectations made him surprised._

_A confused expression designed Alexander's face._

_By the looks of it, it was never turned on in the first place. But Alexander_ swore _he had it on. He remembered sluggishly walking into his bedroom, tired from a day of work and body-slammed himself into his mattress and instinctively took out his phone. He specifically put the alarm to wake him up at the earliest of 7:00. Perhaps it didn't work?_

_Thomas looked relaxed. He was in the kitchen, with a book out and on the kitchen counter and had his apron still tied around his waist. He wasn't freaking out like Alexander, who was on the brink of a panic attack._

_Hamilton rushed to get dressed and got out of his living space while grabbing his partner and dragged him down the hall. It took an impressive five minutes to get out and into the garage area, got in and got onto the road._

Thing is, Thomas must have woken up bright and early to make a perfectly good breakfast for them to eat together. He made an awfully difficult recipe for the two of them to eat. 

But he knew they were going to be late if Alexander slept in late.

So why didn't he leave? 

Was Jefferson a fetus that needed Hamilton to operate? He could have used the public transit-- but no. He stayed put like some housewife. But, as Jefferson stated, he didn't know his way around New York. That was, therefore, Hamilton's fault for not teaching him the routes.

Alexander was still irritated at Thomas from the morning incident (even though it was technically his fault). He was also uncomfortable at how Thomas stared at him for a long period of time. The stare was unsettling. It wasn't _creepy_ but it made Hamilton feel like he did something wrong (which he did). Was it because of the argument? Was Thomas finally showing some true emotion? Alex despised people who stared and didn't acknowledge the common sense of social interaction.

_Don't fucking stare at someone without a reason._

"Why are you staring at me?" Hamilton snapped and broke the silence. 

"You're upset."

_Well, that's a reason._

"No shit," Alexander muttered as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Is there something I can do to ease it?" 

"Being quiet is one way." 

That led to complete silence. But the staring didn't stop. Hamilton felt shivers run down his spine. He shouldn't be shuddering under the eyes of a man, clearly unaware and unempathetic of his own actions.

"Could you _stop_ staring at me?" Hamilton broke the silence once again. He suddenly snapped his neck to look at Thomas, whose eyes grew in shock at the sudden attention. They were stuck in traffic, which meant they were going to be  _later_.

"What else is there to look at?" Jefferson cocked his head to the side.

"I don't know-- the scenery?" Alexander scowled. He threw his hand in the air, where it uncoiled from its curled position and motioned in an "isn't-it-obvious" gesture.

The tranquillity was _deafening_. 

Surprisingly, Jefferson obliged. Alexander didn't mean for his response to act as a command. But Jefferson looked away and out the window. Alexander mentally sighed in relief, thanking whoever that had blessed him.

Doubling down in the uncomfortable silence, Alexander pressed the closest button to the side and the audio of the nearest radio station turned on. The news channel. The lady rambled on about various subjects, mostly containing celebrity moments that were exposed or political drama. It was nothing out of the ordinary until she started talking about New York.

The two gruesome murders that were done by The Divider. She explained in detail of their deaths, unaware of any child who was listening. The woman added her own theories and speculations. It rose awareness in the station and the community who listened to the news on a regular basis.

Hamilton did not want to remember those scenes. They were frozen in his mind. Occasionally, this did not affect him. Meeting deaths of many and tragic stories of the victims involved did not shake him. But why was he shaking _now_? 

Alexander switched to another radio station, appearing to be a French channel. He didn't mind-- in fact, he _spoke_ French fluently, thanks to his mother.

The car finally put to a move. But before Alexander could press on the gas, he turned his face to the side, seeing the Virginian's expression. It was a cast he could not identify. Alexander expected it to be _anger_ or _irritation_.

But...it wasn't.

It had a mix of emotion. And not the angry kind.

It was...

hurt...

and sad.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nine bodies were counted.

The physical characteristics of each individual were difficult to distinguish. Duct tape had been securely slapped onto each individual's mouth and confused the investigators for quite a while, before realising the mechanism that had been set up. 

A device was hooked up to each individual's hand, that included tubing and had been tied up to multiple trees, imitating vines. 

Alexander could see an attempt that someone committed, into carefully pulling one of the piece's of tape off, to only rip away flesh and skin. This revealed a horrific sight of teeth and a bit of jaw.

The victims were almost alive and also almost dead. 

No...they were at the  _brink_  of death.

Whoever this murderer was, they must have calculated each person's time of death, which meant the killer must have been recording them. 

The bodies were all well fertilized and buried in a high nutrient compost. The killer was enthusiastic about burying the victims a few hours before entering Death's door. The murderer wanted to use the bodies decomposition long enough for the fungus to erase any physical characteristics of the person. But they weren't worried about getting caught. No, the faces could be identifiable if processed long enough from a professional.

This person was not scared of confrontation, nor the high risk of imprisonment.

"He encouraged decomposition, that's for sure," A familiar face appeared. The uneasy irritation that lingered inside of Alexander's head immediately faded away after seeing his best friend.

"John...?" Hamilton could easily tell who he was, due to his curly hair. He caught the other's attention, who turned around and smiled brightly.

"Alex!" The freckled man emitted. His face lit up, almost like he was going to give him a hug.

"But...why are you here? Shouldn't you be--"

"Lee's orders. I don't mind being outdoors, it's a nice change from being cooped up inside. Besides, we've got a lot of faces we need to distinguish. They're almost unrecognizable." 

It wasn't much of a problem that Alexander and Thomas appeared late since there were so many investigators, that their absence didn't take effect.

Eliza rose up from her crouching position, taking one last gander at the bodies. "By those tubes tied around the trees, he fed them something. And there weren't any struggles. All of them were helpless. There's also an air supply that runs down there," she pointed her pen towards a direction to the east. "not exactly a considerate clean air solution-- but it isn't much of a priority."

"Was he lazy?" Alexander questioned.

Eliza strolled over. "Not at all. Our suspect aimed perfectly at a spot that made his work easy to discover but also hidden. He's a genius if you ask me."

"Alex," A voice rang.

Not many people heard a voice like that. It didn't ring to anyone's ears, as it was unfamiliar. There were numerous coworkers who have come from different states, such as South Carolina. The accent sounded similar to George Washington's in his younger years before New York took over.

Thomas came out of nowhere and held a device in his hand. It belonged to Hamilton. He must have forgotten it in the car. 

He caught the gazes of many. He had beautiful dark skin, dark brown eyes and a frizzy afro. For a newbie, he was the centre of attention.

Alexander, at first, was going to bark at him for using his nickname that his close friends called him, and then tell him to put the phone back before he recognized the ringing. His ringtone. He quickly manoeuvred his way to his phone and took it out of Jefferson's hand. He muttered a "Thank you", before going to a secluded spot, most likely back to the car, away from everyone's sight.

"You call him Alex?" A voice called out to the right of Jefferson. What really made him pop out, were those freckles. They donned his face like an art museum. He had curly hair, tied up into a ponytail and sunkissed skin. He was an inch or two taller than Alexander but not taller than Jefferson.

"I believe I should have the right to call him that," Jefferson replied. John tried to laugh at that but he only laughed nervously.

"So, I hear ya come from Virginia." John had no reason to not hide his own southern voice. He came from South Carolina. But now, he spoke more prominent, to display dominance and to show the newbie he was not the only southerner.

Thomas nodded his head. 

The silent treatment?

Perhaps he wasn't comfortable with strangers.

"So, what'd you do back there?" Laurens asked casually. He kept his anger low to a minimum. He didn't want to cause a scene during an investigation. One of John's hand's that had been tucked away in his pocket curled into a fist. He hid the tightness in his voice by pushing his anger in his hand rather than his throat.

"That is none of your business," Thomas replied coolly. 

John's breath hitched and his fingernails pressed up against his palm and formed crescent marks on the skin. He unconsciously pricked the skin until it cut and lines of blood were released.

"So, are you--"

"He is my friend. And I will always treat him as one."

Laurens' mouth hung open, still registering the words in slow-motion. 

John's smile gradually dropped, leaving him speechless. Jefferson read him like an open book. His eyes saw past his exterior and spotted his heart before his very eyes. Before Laurens could start a response, Jefferson looked away and cut off the connection of their conversation. His eyes peered at the crime scene and examined the investigation, leaving Laurens out.

It was such a random comment to say the very least-- but it hit the nail on the head. Nobody had to say anything and Jefferson promptly defended himself. 

Eliza noticed their "quarrel" and stepped in. 

She wore a light blue top, dark blue jeans, knee-high brown boots and blue rubber gloves. He remembered his conversation with Lafayette a few weeks prior. Something about a woman named Eliza who frequently wore blue.

This must have been her.

She was a very pretty lady. He was surprised to know she wasn't married or, in fact, in any relationship. As Lafayette said, she wasn't interested in romance, rather she wanted to spend her time and help people.

"Are you Eliza?" Thomas turned his attention to her.

She smiled. "Yes, I am. And you must be..."

"Thomas Jefferson."

Eliza stook out her hand, before realising that there was soil on it. She was about to pull it back and remove the glove when Thomas straight up _shook_ it. She squawked, panicking and apologised.

Thomas did not seem phased by the dirt.

"I'm sorry-- I should have taken it off, I--"

"There's no need."

"B--But there are other substances. Like...decay, or..."

Jefferson brought out a napkin he kept in his pocket. He had no open wounds or cuts, therefore he didn't have a risk of infections. "I should have worn gloves in the first place." 

He could feel the man's glare intensely stabbing into his back. He couldn't remember this man's name but it started with the letter "J".

James?

Jay?

Jared?

 _John_? 

Whatever it was, he didn't care for him. He could glare all night at him and he still would wake up with a full eight hours of sleep.

Eliza disappeared, to retrieve a pair of rubber gloves, leaving Jefferson alone with Mr Angry. John kept his eyes daggering at Jefferson's back, wishing that they pierced through him.

"You're staring at me." Jefferson would laugh at the irony if it wasn't for the cold atmosphere.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." John presented an innocent smile, tight at the corners and fake in general.  

They stood a fair distance away from each other, two wolves asserting their dominance without physical touch. 

Jefferson spun around on his heel, folding his hands behind his back. John Laurens was confused by his unexpected action until he heard footsteps getting louder and louder before stopping behind him. Hamilton returned, tucking his electronic device into his pant's back pocket. 

"Did I miss anything?" Alex asked.

"Ah-- nothing in particular," John promptly claimed. He was taken aback by Hamilton's voice and surprised by his sudden appearance.

Jefferson and Laurens' affair wasn't necessary by all means and Thomas had no means to engage with this freckled entity

"Okay, well, whatever art piece this is, its purpose was to grow fungus." Hamilton squatted down when he approached a body.

"Are you saying these are works of art, rather than murders?" Jefferson asked Alexander.

That caught Alexander's ears. After squatting down for a couple of seconds, he got right back up and he started speaking.

"Even though these graves are particularly shallow, the purpose was _not_ to bury them and cover the evidence. What kind of murderer puts them in the same area? And in _rows_. If the killer wanted, there wouldn't be any need to have everything so particularly clean and concise. I get some murderers would want to clear any evidence-- but this person added the extra effort. Eliza mentioned the murderer wasn't lazy and it _shows_. This suspect had enough time. To do something _this_ extravagant." Alexander gestured at the scene below. He ranted for quite a while and it didn't come unnoticed.

It was almost a _lecture_ coming from this man.

"Perfectionism?" Jefferson suggested while folding his hands behind his back like a gentleman.

"He wanted to keep it neat and tidy-- but it wasn't because he didn't want to get caught..." Alexander trailed off.

"What did he want?" 

"he wanted to grow a garden."

A beautiful garden.

The crew would have laughed if it wasn't for the cold tension between Jefferson and Hamilton. Even Thomas had the look of disbelief.

"He did not bind any of these bodies--"

"Because he knew that these people would never grow conscious again!" Alexander exclaimed. Not only did the crew shut up even further but the music of the forest birds silenced at the man's voice. "And only _he_ alone knew."

The tension increased, that it grew almost _uncomfortable_ by standing on the ground the fight stood upon.

His mind ran on a different course-- its own rollercoaster. It never met up with others, Alexander could not compare himself with them. Spending the rest of his life alone and left out with little to no friends. By his records in high school and post-secondary, he was a very intelligent pupil. Everyone was different. In their own unique way. Let it be physical, academic, verbal or mental.

But there's a catch.

"Then how do you know?"

The murmurs of the wildlife came to an abrupt end as if all perished.

" _Oh, shit_." Someone whispered in the back.

Alexander turned around, facing the other man. He looked like he was about to commit a hate crime. His eyes were filled with fury and if looks could kill, Jefferson would drop dead right now. 

Hamilton's expression had a mixture of "are-you-fucking-kidding-me" and anger. His facial expression couldn't even handle what Jefferson stated that he threw his hands in the air and immediately dropped them. His hands slapped his thighs and he walked away.

"Unbelievable." Was the last thing he said before leaving the scene.

Jefferson was about to head after him before a voice stopped him.

"I think you should leave him be." A feminine voice called out. Eliza returned, with a pair of blue gloves. She handed them to Jefferson, who took them in advance and slipped them on.

Instead of Thomas, another man speedily walked over to Alexander's direction. It was that same freckled individual with the curly hair. The one who wore the cheeky smile, with freckles dotted all over his face like stars.

"Who is he?" Jefferson asked the young lady.

"Oh, him? That's John Laurens. He's part of the forensic department. Normally, he doesn't do outdoor field work, but for a specific case like this, he's needed."

"How long has he been in the crime industry for?"

"Well...ever since he graduated from university, he started when Alexander did. They're both very close friends and their friendship grows more even now."

Hamilton returned for the second time, who blew off some steam and calmed down. Laurens followed behind. The two spoke with each other for the past five minutes and they agreed that they both hated Jefferson with a passion but they couldn't let their personal opinions get in the way of their professional responsibilities.

As time passed, the bodies were delivered into a vehicle that had the intentions of driving to the forensic laboratory to be further analysed.

When the bodies were removed, it left shallow ditches in the dirt, revealing the fact that they were intentionally buried that way. The idea stuck in Alexander's mind for a while. Why would a murderer leave a body in a shallow ditch? Perhaps some may say they were in a hurry.

But in the same area? And specifically side by side, shoulder to shoulder?

He met many encounters before but why did this paralyze him so much? Was it because of the cold hand touching his warm thigh? Was it because this man was holding on for dear life? He appeared sickly and at the brink of loss but somehow cheated death. His white skin grew into a dark, rotten colour and his entire body was covered in fungus.

By the pathetic and desperate sounds he made, the man had just woken up.

"Don't touch him." A voice from Alexander said.

It was calm and cool, like the gentle waves of a stream. He felt a hand placed on his shoulder and his neck cranked around, to see a tall and dark-skinned Virginian beside him.

Alexander stumbled backwards, almost falling on his ass. As an instinct, he used his right hand as leverage to keep himself from falling. It was not the other man's fault that he fell-- it was his own. He shuffled away, allowing his nemesis check on the body. Alexander managed to get a hold of himself and used his arms as leverage to get off the soil.

The victim grasped for air and let out muffled cries. His arms tried to reach out but were stiff, due to the fungus he wore on his frontal side. He was quick to discover his teeth were disgustingly rotten and bloodied. He tasted the iron on his lips, left out to rot and slurped by critters. Additionally, he discovered a piece of duct tape had been fastened on his fleshly, unpleasant lips.

As all were too shocked to make a move, Jefferson took action. He ordered a team of paramedics to carefully transport the man into a stretcher and bring him to the ER immediately. 

The other bodies were checked, to make sure that man wasn't the only one alive.

A whole group of investigators filed in, creating packs of people. 

Alexander could not stop the feeling of hate and guilt in his chest. He claimed these victims would never grow conscious again-- he claimed they would stay down in the soil and never see the sunlight ever again.

How wrong he felt. 

If they all left and believed in Hamilton, this victim would have not survived.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**April 13, 2019**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hamilton refused to talk to Jefferson this morning. He left without a word, leaving Jefferson alone in their apartment. He still couldn't forgive him-- after all the crap he said and pointing the finger at Alexander. But of the incident that occurred yesterday couldn't help but make him feel so ashamed. Nobody threw him out the window and shamed him for making a mistake-- all humans made mistakes.

He couldn't get enough sleep last night. The same dream occurred but the stag was with him this time. 

They were no longer two halves, but a whole.

"-ex. Alex!"

Hamilton felt a hand touch his shoulder and shook him like an eight ball.

"Alex!"

He turned his face to the right, seeing a familiar freckled appearance. He remembered being in the laboratory with his best friend John. He must have zoned out.

"Oh...sorry."

Hamilton looked awfully tired, due to the deep bags underneath his eyes. He must have been staying up all night. He understood how he must have felt since yesterday. Hamilton wanted to prove he was right even though everyone thought he was insane. Jefferson's ideas sounded correct and logical. Hamilton's were out of the ordinary.

John cleared his throat. "There's clearly an admirer."

"You think so?"

"By comparing these photos, you can tell that there's some inspiration," John said.

Hamilton sighed. "John, you make no sense."

John Laurens, a forensic artist in the forensic department. At a young age, he grew up in a rural community, surrounded by wildlife and trees. He had no children to play with and his siblings were always busy. And so, that was when his bud sprouted. Drawing became his passion. During breakfast, lunch and dinner, he brought his drawing pad to the table and would quickly draw his relatives in his sketchbook. His father wanted him to become a benefit towards the family, such as a doctor or a lawyer. However, John chose to become a forensic artist. Even though John's father found it displeasing to the family's honour, his mother and siblings supported him.

"Look," He selected three specific photos. He put aside the ones that weren't the best quality or didn't capture the "art" of the killer's creation. The pictures he chose expressed a clearer and precise way of communication. He displayed them on the white table in front of them.

He placed two pictures of The Divider's gory form of art.

Sharon Peterkin and the recently discovered, _Robert Morris._

It turned out the "unknown man", now known as Robert Morris, had been missing for a few days until his family showed up and claimed him. He was last seen driving from his relative's driveway after delivering groceries. His car had been found ten blocks away from his relative's location. It ended up in a nearby river, clearly driven off on purpose. 

John then added a photo, the most recent ones.

He planted ten photos on the table in order. He went through the first body collected, figured to be a woman in her fifty's. Her mother claimed her body, even stating she had been staying in a hospital because of liver cancer.

"Hey, I'm a writer, not an _artist_."

Laurens rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Try putting yourself in their shoes. Y'know, _first person_." He air quoted.

Alex let out a laugh. "Haha...fuck you. So...explain why they're _alike_?"

"Not alike. _Inspired_. The Divider made it onto the news real fast. There's gonna be some wackjob out there will at some point find some sadistic ideas from all the murders."

Hamilton observed the photos, looking at the ones at the left side and trailed his eyes to the right. He leaned his body over the counter but not enough that he'd ruin the perfectly organised layout. He returned his eyes back to the left photo, his eyes digging deeper into Peterkin's image. Her snowy-white skin, blood drained, making her into a mannequin. And conveniently, Alexander claimed her to look like one at a distance.

"Someone's jealous." Hamilton declared while crossing his arms.

Laurens raised a brow.

"Peterkin had the body of a model. Recent investigations claimed her history had including being a beauty pageant ever since her youth. Pale skin and dark brown eyes and hair to contrast it. I don't get why he'd be upset over some woman's beauty. There's just _something_ \-- but I don't know what it is."

"And Morris?" 

"It's likely he had been murdered by the same killer, The Divider. I believe The Divider's trying to get someone to fix the pieces. Fix _him_. Restore him back to normal."

Find him.

Find someone who can see like _him_.

"These murders transpired because someone's _sensitive_?" John muttered to himself. His mind couldn't wrap around the idea of something that could have been _easily_  fixed by talking to a professional. "What about the fungus?"

Hamilton examined the photo taken the day prior. He couldn't point his tongue on it but he knew it had a different tone. A different _touch_. It screamed obscurity that didn't belong to the same voice. 

John quirked a brow. "I don't get you writers." He admitted. Whatever his friend saw, it was out of his field of vision.

"The murders of Peterkin and Morris were killed with elegance. With grace and passion. However, I believe that the nine bodies discovered for fertilizer were killed with not the intent of beauty, but to seek out a garden and preservation until their dying breath."

"So this killer is..."graceful?" John air-quoted.

"On the contrary to what many believe, I think there are two killers. You can tell by their designs. One is productive while one is carried with the intent of beauty and emotion."

"Beauty and emotion, huh? What kind of psycho is this?"

Hamilton dryly laughed.

They desperately had to put a stop to this. If not, these murders could continue to grow into an avalanche that will drive other people into murder. It was like cutting a wire to a bomb. Very cautious and careful. The wrong move could blatantly let the media reach in and grab them by the horns.

And by now, Alexander's beliefs of two murderers may increase rather soon.

 

 

* * *

 

 ~~~~

"Premature death." Hamilton tossed a folder onto the kitchen counter. 

Thomas started executing tonight's dinner before being cut off by a random slap of a folder next to him. He lowered the knife and put the green onions aside. He washed his hands and wiped away the droplets with a cloth.

He picked up the folder, examining its interiors. While he read, Hamilton removed his jacket and tossed it onto the couch in front of the television. Thomas truly had a sense of style. 

He seemed artistic.

Visual.

Eye-coordinated.

He had his own sense of style and Alexander hated to admit this...but he liked it.

Jefferson had an elegance to him-- something of class and grace. He wasn't a cocky snob and he didn't like showing off. His style wasn't _that_ flamboyant, even as Alexander claimed it to be.

Thomas even brought his architectural drawings from Virginia. He considered them as "rough" and not good enough to be professionally displayed. Alexander couldn't even draw a stick-man. Hamilton lived with a man who could do a hundred times more than he could. He was a man of _everything_.

How did he not have a wife and kids? How was he not in the top ten millionaires? 

Thomas quoted, _"I like to stay low-profile."_

"What did you see? Out in the field?"

Alexander scoffed. "You were there too."

"But I'd like to know your perspective," Jefferson added.

"...A man."

Jefferson gestured for the other to continue.

"...who lived," Hamilton concluded. "but barely. We're thinking about euthanising him."

"But he holds a lot of information, doesn't he?"

"He can barely make up a word. John told me the specialists got rid of the fungus, but he's still unable to move his arms and legs. But we managed to conjure a name out of him."

Evan Lee.

With the name finally confiscated, Evan Lee turned out to be a man on the missing list for about a week and two days, where his family claimed the last time they saw him, was when he went out to pick up his daughter from night school.

Alexander walked to the living room and sat down on one of the armchairs. It had a dark grey pigment and the cushions were hard to the touch. He couldn't sink in and sit improperly like he usually did and was forced to sit professionally. Jefferson followed suit, taking the armchair in front of Hamilton's. 

Their armchairs faced one another and it just so happened they sat together to talk. The pair stared eye-to-eye, observing each other's glances. Deepening their gazes into each other's brown orbs and pupils.

"And these murders. What do you think the motive is?"

"They weren't murders-- they were _fertilizer_." Hamilton's eyes snapped back in place. It was difficult to explain. Technically, still murders but in a way, they weren't intended to _be_ one. They had this conversation before until it ended off on a cliffhanger.

"Elaborate."

"They were used to grow fungus. Look, they were eventually going to die at _some_ point but they weren't _intended_ to be murdered. He wanted to keep them alive-- to grow a garden." Hamilton sounded ridiculous. If he spoke to a police officer, the entire station would laugh at him.

"Eliza Schuyler claimed this murderer was a genius. Are you proving her wrong?"

"No--" Hamilton tried to wrap his head around, trying to figure which words to say. "she's correct about the killer being a genius-- he's an absolute _genius._ It's just that--...god, you wouldn't understand..."

"I will understand--"

" _No_ , you won't. Nobody understands me...not even Eliza, John," Alexander dryly laughed. "not even my coworkers!" He exclaimed. He didn't have any living relatives and his friends were considered family. Not even his _closest_ friends understood his thoughts and ideas. Their diverse perspectives were going to get them nowhere and it was better to just drop it.

Lord...was he going insane?

Alexander coldly laughed. "I probably sound like a serial killer..." He rubbed his face, trying to smoothen and stretch his tough and stiff skin. The elasticity grew poor over time, due to his lack of self-care.

"Alexander," Thomas began. He leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. "Washington wanted me to do him a favour and I agreed. I am not here to make a fool of you nor shame you-- and I am _not_ here to just be your roommate and partner. I'm here to help you."

"That's hard to believe." Hamilton rolled his eyes.

"Pay close attention. I am only going to say this once. If I really didn't care about you, I would have found an apartment. With whatever "rich, old Virginian money" you claim I have, I could have left before you even woke up."

Alexander's cheeks lit up a light pink colour.  _"Curse you, Lafayette."_

"But I didn't. Because I care about you. You are my friend."

Hamilton did not believe a single word the Virginian spoke of. But the mention of Washington made it at least a bit believable. He knew he cared about him, both in the workplace and health. Hamilton positively needed help from someone who could take care of him. He needed to eat, sleep and lessen the stress on his shoulders. And Jefferson was the right man for it.

Jefferson placed his hand onto Alexander's shoulder, the same area back at Central Park.

"Don't ever doubt that."

He released his hand and it let it fall to the side. The hand felt like it had been on his shoulder for hours, even though it had been there for a couple of seconds. Alexander missed the warmth. He missed how big and soft Jefferson's hand was. He missed how it lightly caressed his shoulder, almost like a massage.

"What do you think this serial killer is?" Jefferson asked.

"...A sensitive psychopath..." Hamilton replied slowly. An oxymoron but it was true.

He looked up to reach Jefferson's eyes. He didn't agree with that statement at all. Even as he said it, he said it gradually, unsure if it was the right thing to say. "but, I don't think there's one person."

Not one.

There were _two_ murderers. 

Jefferson stopped stirring the wooden spoon and held onto it. Hamilton was busily thinking to himself while staring at the floor. His mind grew sick at the thoughts he had come up with. His head had built up enough stress for today.

"Fuck, this is stupid, let's just--"

"No. It is not stupid. Resume."

**Speak.**

**Your.**

**Design.**

Alexander took a heavy breath of air before exhaling it all out. "This person is emotional. They can feel emotions, unlike a regular psychopath. They aren't exactly anti-social and they can speak well with others."

"What emotions do they feel?"

"Like...happiness. Sadness. Jealousy. Anger. Disgust. And...I don't think they feel fear."

"Why not?"

"Excessive confidence."

"What do you think he knows about?" Jefferson asked.

"He knows about medicine,"

**Continue.**

"design,"

**Go on.**

"and art."

**Amazing.**

"And what do you think he's doing?" 

Hamilton hesitated, his lips jittering before he could reply. He inhaled a heavy grasp of air and swallowed a lump in his throat.

"...He's eating them."

**Disappointing.**

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Welcome, Miss Schuyler. Please, come in."

The young lady smiled, with her adorable dimples on display. 

Eliza wore a knee-length, light blue dress with an A-line style. To match the dress, she wore the same coloured flats to go with it. There were small, white bows on the top of her flats and judging by her legs, she recently shaved. In her left hand, she carried a pair of light blue rain boots. She must have slipped those on immediately when she got into the apartment complex. The one colour that didn't fit her, was that yellow umbrella.

As she passed through the doorframe, the door softly clicked behind her.

"Woah..." Her jaw almost dropped to the floor.

She expected a messy living space but she realised everything had been cleaned from the ceiling and all the way down. Instead of a crappy dining table, suitable for one or two, a bigger one had been bought, suitable for at least four or six more people. She regretted being the only one at the dinner, as she could have invited her friends or even her sisters.

"Do you like it?" Jefferson questioned.

"This is _one_ makeover." Eliza still looked astounded. Her eyes gazed at the dining table, looking over to see an orange fire flicker at her, seducing her with its whip.

"Please, take a seat. Dinner will be ready in five minutes."

She hoped Jefferson wouldn't mind about her wet rainboots. She placed them at the head of the door so the water wouldn't drizzle everywhere. She noticed an umbrella holder and she placed her own umbrella in.

Eliza followed as invited and made her way to the dining table. The ugly couch had been removed and that space had been used for a bigger table and a few extra chairs. Her eyes trailed to the bookshelf. It still looked the same but it had been more neatly organised. The figurines were placed in Alexander's bedroom, as it didn't need to be in the public's eye.

The woman placed her purse on her lap as she seated her bottom on the chair.

The lights were dimmed, setting a dining room atmosphere that seemed low-key romantic.

Her thumbs twiddled and her ankles crossed with each other every minute, getting quite impatient. She retrieved her phone from her purse, pretending to text on her phone and appear busy. Her nose smelled the scent of something delicious in the kitchen. She couldn't help but itch to see what was being made.

In all honesty, she found the Virginian intimidating, by his tall stature and aesthetically pleasing physique body. However, when she got to know Thomas, she realised he wasn't all that bad. From all the crap Alexander spoke about him, he didn't seem like the villain he so claimed him to be. Thomas held an " _adult_ " behaviour, more mature than the coworkers in her workplace. He was the guy people would go to and wouldn't be the one cracking up a fart joke.

"Dinner is ready," Thomas called out. 

Eliza's heart skipped a beat, watching Thomas walked out of the kitchen in slow motion. He wore a white apron, tied around his waist. His sleeves were pulled up, revealing muscular forearms that he must have been working on at the gym. 

As Thomas lowered the plate, presenting his fine dish to the young lady, she found something she needed to point out.

"Oh, I think I forgot to remind you. I'm a vegetarian." Eliza stated.

Oh.

A light-bulb just flickered.

"Ah, yes. I forgot that you mentioned that to me before. I apologise." He lied.

Eliza never mentioned a word of being vegetarian. However, he took that declaration and stuck it under a rock and decided to take the blame.

"Oh, no!" Eliza had been caught up in Jefferson's apology, that she quickly enacted to defend him. "It's okay, I can just eat the--"

"No, no, it was my mistake. I'll prepare a different meal. Perhaps mushroom soup. Is there anything I need to know?" The man asked, before heading off into the kitchen.

"Just no meat or fish but I wouldn't expect that to be in a mushroom soup." Eliza smiled.

Thomas politely smiled in return.

He scooped up the plate in his right hand and delivered it to the kitchen. 

That left Eliza on her own, where she observed her surroundings. She was in Hamilton's apartment. _Hamilton's_. She visited his apartment complex once and was greeted by a weed smoker and the scent of lemons that tried hiding the scent of mould. The neighbours were incredibly rude and the staff too. Hamilton's living space looked like it had been tossed around by a hurricane. She never thought that Alexander managed to get it so clean.

Her eyes laid on the dark, grey walls. She liked the colour choice. It fit in well with the white corner pillars that were supposed to be for aesthetics. Hamilton managed to get a space that had dark brown floors. It made everything fit together.

"I never knew Alexander was even artistic." The woman laughed.

Thomas peered his eyes up, looking through the windowless wall. "What do you mean?"

"The walls used to be white since the last time I visited. I remember that stain near the bookshelf," Eliza pointed towards that specific area with her index finger. "guess he painted that over."

It was Jefferson's turn to laugh.

"He didn't paint it. I did."

Eliza blinked rapidly in confusion and suddenly her face grew red. "S--Sorry, I thought Alexander...painted...it..." the woman's voice grew quiet as she ended her sentence off a cliff hanger. She brushed the hair away from the left side of her face and put it behind her ear.

"It's fine," Jefferson chuckled low.

The lady cleared her throat with an embarrassed smile on her face. "So...how's Alexander? He must be a handful." She giggled.

"Quite," Thomas agreed. "but I manage."

"Have you been caring for him?"

"I've been getting him to eat for the past few days. He's been making progress." Thomas replied. He turned on the setting to a high temperature and placed a large pot on top of the gas stove. He wasn't exactly used to a gas stove, as he normally used an electric one but he easily adapted. He had a stick of butter next to him and he cut half of it and placed it into the pot.

He circled the knob around with his spatula until it dissolved into a liquid. He took the time to gather a container he filled with mushrooms that he recently purchased from the local farmer's market and cut them into thin pieces. He had a knife lying next to him, as he used that to make the meal Eliza couldn't eat. He washed the blade by using water from the tap and immediately got to work.

Jefferson sharpened his knife with a ceramic steel knife sharpener. He kept his thumb underneath the guard to prevent his thumb from being cut. He speedily ran the blade back and forth on the ceramic utensil until he felt satisfied. It left this hypnotising sound in the air every time he sharpened any of his kitchen appliances. 

Mushrooms were difficult to handle, as they usually fell apart when being cut. Thomas kept a firm grasp on the cremini mushroom but not enough that it would crumble. He kept his fingers tucked in and cut away. 

After a few minutes, Jefferson created about a pound of mushrooms. He added that into the pot and especially used cremini, to add a nice flavour. He stirred the vegetable around with a wooden spoon, waiting for it to drain the water from the mushrooms. He sauteed it for about five minutes, leaving the mushrooms tender and the water evaporated.

"Are you a chef?" Eliza questioned.

"As a hobby, yes." Thomas sprinkled about a cup of flour into the pot, decorating the mushrooms with a white Christmas. He stirred it around, waiting for the white flour to disintegrate. Luckily, he saved the chicken broth he used for the meal he was intending for Miss Schuyler to consume. It was such a waste and he didn't want to throw it away. Perhaps he and Alexander could finish it up. Instead, he used green onions, ginger, celery and fennel as a broth. He brought those vegetables to another pot of water, bringing it to boil and slowly reduced it to simmer. 

He added six cups of it and brought it to a boil while stirring constantly.

"Why have you decided to come to New York?"

"I wanted a new experience," Thomas admitted. "Virginia is pleasant but I felt like aiding others who are in better need."

"I feel the same too." Eliza smiled, glad that she could relate to someone.

Jefferson added a small teaspoon of dried pine, along with a quarter chop of green onions and a single bay leaf. He turned the temperature on a low setting, before placing a cover over the pot. He would wait for the mushrooms to simmer for around fifteen to twenty minutes.

He exited the kitchen, heading over to the dining table.

"Where is Alexander, anyway?" Eliza wondered.

"Hamilton is at work. It's unfortunate he couldn't join us for tonight's dinner." Jefferson took a seat on the opposite side of Eliza.

She sighed. "It would've been great if he were here. I thought about inviting my sisters, but they had plans tonight."

"Sisters?" Jefferson raised a brow.

"I have two. Peggy is my youngest and Angelica is my oldest. Peggy is a cafe owner and Angelica is involved in politics."

"Strong diversity between the two."

Eliza let out a hefty laugh. "I guess so." The smile on her face looked strained and jittered from time to time. The woman seemed restless, especially about the topic of her two siblings.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, nothing's wrong--"

"I can tell you're distressed. Tell me anything. I can help you."

"No, I don't want to seem like a bother-- you seem busy enough--"

Jefferson placed his hand on top of Eliza's. The sudden shock of warmth startled her but she promptly calmed down after realising what it was. It left a pleasant and reassuring silence that Eliza had to accept it. She genuinely liked Jefferson's calm and quaint manner. It was the opposite of many men she knew, who was brash, loud and hard-headed. But Jefferson was a man who didn't push at her to express her emotions or seem irritated if Eliza continuously refused the offer of help. 

The feelings she had been bottling up for the past few weeks had finally been released.

"My sister, she-- Peggy, I mean. She stopped talking to me-- not just me-- but also Angelica and our father. She hasn't been talking to primarily _anyone,_ " Eliza took a breath of air before a long exhale escaped her nose. "I came by her cafe before coming here to pick up an umbrella. She didn't say anything to me. She always greets me..."

Eliza looked at her hands, realising how ridiculous everything sounded when she finally got the chance to says it out loud. "I think I'm overreacting..."

"Do you think she is stressed?"

"Well, no. She can handle stress pretty easily. Even if she is, she comes to our family for guidance."

"Does she act paranoid?"

"A...A little bit."

"Do you think it's work-related? Or her personal life?"

"I believe it's personal life. A mid-life crisis, maybe?" Eliza suggested. 

"It could be. Shall I set up an appointment? I know I am no longer an official psychiatrist but I still have the experience of one. We can both visit her and talk about it. How about this. You can tell you that we're going to have an arrangement together at her cafe. Does seven sound good?" 

"I...I think that's a good idea. I'll try finding a date. Thank you." The woman smiled and at the corners of her eyes, tiny spheres of liquid glassed over her dark brown orbs.

Jefferson got up from his chair and strolled back to the kitchen. He checked on the mushroom soup he left to simmer for fifteen to twenty minutes. He turned to face the fridge and he grabbed the handle and pulled it toward his body. What was inside, exhibited a full decked out fridge, with layers and layers of fresh produce that Jefferson purchased a day or two ago. 

He grabbed a carton of eggs and placed it onto the kitchen counter. He selected two eggs from the package and returned the others back into the fridge. He cracked the eggs on the counter with one hand and spread the shells apart until the contents dripped into a bowl down below.

Instead of tossing the eggs away, he used them for good use. He owned a basil plant, at the right-hand corner of the kitchen counter. He placed those shells on the soil before wiping his fingers with a cloth from the egg white that got on them.

He poured a half cup of whipping cream into the eggs and gave the solution a good whisk. He collected some of the hot soup with a ladle he used earlier and poured it into the eggs and whipping cream. He used the heat from the soup to cook the eggs quicker and to avoid an egg-drop soup.

Thomas drained the bowl into the cooking pot and turned the heat down low. He took his wooden spoon and slowly stirred the soup until it became a white, creamy colour. He took a bottle of white pepper and drizzled a fair amount into the pot.

He retrieved that ladle back again and selected a medium sized bowl and poured a spoonful of mushroom soup. He had a flat dish underneath the bowl, so he could carry it without the fear of burning himself. He claimed another bowl and dish from the cabinets and poured another spoonful of soup for himself. He picked up the dishes, one on each hand.

Jefferson walked out of the kitchen and brought the two bowls to the dining table. Eliza seemed impressed and astonished at the presentation in front of her. The smell of mushrooms and cream immediately hit her nose in an instant. It smelled scrumptious and she wanted to dig in right away. But she waited patiently for Jefferson to take his seat. He did so and slightly pulled his chair closer.

Eliza waited for the Virginian to settle in before she could take a spoonful. She retrieved her spoon and held it in her hand and took a generous amount of mushroom and soup. She invited her spoon into her mouth and pulled it away, softly chewing on the vegetable and swallowed.

"Where did you get these mushrooms from?" Eliza asked eagerly. She took another spoonful into her mouth and melted by its taste again.

"I purchased them from the local farmer's market," Jefferson replied.

"Oh, but isn't that quite a drive? We do live in a city after all."

"I take the road in the early mornings. And I do some shopping while I'm out of the city."

She could tell, by the amazing interior Jefferson created. It was _definitely_ out of Alexander's reach and if Jefferson was to never exist, Alex must have attended a university for arts if he were to decorate his apartment like this.

"Are you a morning person?"

"Yes, most certainly."

Eliza quietly laughed. "You're the first. None of my coworkers can survive the morning. Not even I."

"Well, you have to be awake in order to accomplish things."

"Alexander _hates_ mornings. He's always so grumpy and irritated by one little thing."

"I can confirm." Jefferson lowered his spoon into the bowl, gathering enough on his spoon and sipped it. "His behaviour in the morning is very negative. I'm trying to steer him from it."

"How?" Eliza asked. She leaned closer and she frantically wanted to know the secret.

"I get him distracted."

"How so?"

"Put everything on a high shelf."

Eliza let out a big snort, where she cut herself off short after realising what she had done. Her hands trailed up to her mouth instinctively and covered it. Her face grew very red, like a tomato. 

"S--Sorry..." Eliza added in a nervous laugh.

"What are you apologising for?" Thomas laid his elbows on the table and wrapped his fingers together, forming a trust bond between them. He laid his chin on top of those fingers and cocked his head to the side.

"It's just...not lady-like of me." Eliza lowered face and hands down to her lap where her fingers encased in one another. Her thumbs twiddled again and played with the sea-foam green nail polish that she applied this morning.

"There is nothing wrong with snorting. Everyone does that. Even Hamilton."

Eliza softly giggled. "That is true."

"Don't be so self-conscious. You are an _astonishing_ woman, Elizabeth Schuyler."

Her cheeks flushed a deep red by that compliment and had been so infused with it, she forgot about asking him how he knew her first full name.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so bad I'm so sorry 
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> I'm actually using "it" a lot for any of the murderers' pronoun, because, this is mainly Alexander's perspective (not mine :P), based on Alexander's views and beliefs. He believes people such as murderers are not human. They do not deserve even a simple pronoun because of their unempathetic and careless nature, that Alexander despises them greatly. 
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> (Sometimes, the word "he" gets in there whenever Alexander is being very expressive, especially during that fungus scene, he forgets his views and beliefs and he slowly starts sympathizing these "inhuman entities")
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	5. Chapter Five: Œufs Et Jambon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We don't know each other and to my honest regards that we will never meet. My time is limited I will only say this once."
> 
> "...Should I write this down...?"
> 
> "No need." The man replied.
> 
> "Then...what is it?" He was apprehensive what to reply next and he repeated the same word he used before. His palms grew sweaty and he shifted from one foot to the other. He took a deep breath, just like what he always told his son. 
> 
> "They know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *FALLS ON KNEES AND SLAMS FACE ON GROUND* I'M SORRY! FORGIVE ME PLEASE! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, especially after such a long lack of updates. Unfortunately, updates will be a lot slower due to school. I'm sorry for how shitty this one is and also, the reason this chapter is a bit shorter is that a lot has been pushed to the next chapter, so that'll be a bit longer.
> 
> In the previous chapter, I actually fucked up in the dinner scene. I put "chicken broth" and I then realised my mistake (i can't believe that has been on there for so long rghwjfkhg). I'm not sure if any of you guys noticed because a lot of you had your suspicions on Jefferson for quite a while and just assumed "oho he's being evil" when he served the chicken broth. But now it's fixed so hahahahahhahaaaa *cries*
> 
> Warnings: Animal death, mentions of euthanization, blood, and mentions of miscarriage and suicide

 

 

 

"Nice and easy..."

The adolescent carefully deposited the remains of what once lived into the soil below. Its fur still intact and the warmth had disappeared an hour ago. A shallow grave, but enough that no animal would dig at the miniature dirt mound and take its remains after the pet had been buried.

"easy does it, Philip."

The shovel had been left to the side and the metallic spade laid upon a small dirt hill Philip had dug up. 

The hole was smaller than the size of their furry creature but his father claimed predators would easily find it. Philip didn't question it and it seemed for the best. He was too stricken by grief to necessarily think about the consequences.

A hero to come to his aid, his father.

He knew medicine.

His brain held the capacity of Albert Einstein and the smartest person in the world (that's what he thought when he was younger, that is).

Indeed, the two could have gone to a vet clinic and ask for a quick and painless euthanization. But with a father who had the skills and experience with putting down animals, it was easier and cheaper with him.

It took only a couple of seconds to a minute to put down their dog. She lived a good ten years. She kept biting the shoes they wore, especially the brand new ones because the scent picked her nose and she immediately knew they were fresh out of the box.

After Fluffy had been placed in her grave, Philip bit his bottom lip, unsure about covering her in a pile of dirt. The image of her eyes flashing wide open right when he started placing half a kilo of dirt on her and she would start yipping and howling. When Fluffy started showing signs of pain and arthritis, Philip couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of burying her. 

What if she woke up?

He knew that euthanizing an animal ended its life in a snap.

But what if...?

Though, he always feared being buried alive. The chances of that are currently slim due to advanced technology. 

But _what if_...?

Now he had to bury her with his own hands. He gripped the shovel, his knuckles and fingers whitening as they held on longer for more than five seconds.

He felt a warm hand with five slender digits on his shoulder. He lightly jolted and turned his head around, seeing his father, who gave a warm and small smile. He too looked saddened about Fluffy's death.

Philip took a confident huff and scooped a generous pile of brown dirt.

If this had to be done, it had to be done.

The first drop off caused Philip's breath to hitch. 

He almost apologised after dumping the dirt onto his deceased dog. It felt like he was hitting her with dirt every time.

The two found her at a park when Philip was very young. She was covered in dirt, sand and strands of green grass. After giving her a bath (which she did not like), more than half of her body had been shaved due to her clumped fur, except her tail, as they only needed to brush it a few times to get the fur straight. There were cuts that patterned all over Fluffy's body. Most of them appeared to have been caused by sharp objects, such as rocks or sharp twigs.

Fluffy had been a target and the poor girl still wagged her tail despite her condition.

Philip felt like he was one of those bullies. He felt like he was the one who kicked dirt on her. Though, she most likely dirtied herself by running away, rather than her attacker kicking filth on her fur. But, he was still imprinting something unpleasing on her body.

And it felt _horrible_.

Philip took a deep breath, what his father always told him whenever times were troubling.

He shovelled another pile of dirt and turned the shovel one-eighty until gravity did its job.

The young boy continued this cycle until when he tried striking down for another scoop, he struck the surface of hard dirt. He looked at the tip of the shovel and he realised he lost track of time. He must have been in a hypnotic loop, that he could no longer think and could only do.

The frown on his face remained for the time being.

Fluffy was finally encased in dirt.

Just like the way she started.

"Perhaps we can make her a tombstone tomorrow. How about that?" His father suggested.

Philip slowly nodded his head. "Yeah..." he whispered quietly. He didn't ask how they were going to retrieve a tombstone. Perhaps a flat, rectangular rock and they could carve engravings on the surface. His grip on the shovel loosened and his father took it in his own hands. 

He returned the instrument back to the gardening shed, leaning it against one of the four walls before locking the door on his way out.

His father still treated him like a child. Despite being fifteen years old, he was treated as if he came out of his mother. Always cherished, cared for-- sometimes _too_ much. But he always struggled with the fact that his father wasn't his biological father.

_Adopted child._

That name always stuck to him like an unwanted label.

He sometimes smuggled in his father's sleeping quarters whenever he was at work and snuck out important-looking documents that were typed in New Romans, to only realise they were about him. He read all the information, let it be positive or negative. But most of it was about his adoption.

He never liked telling people he was adopted. His classmates were always " _Woah_ " or " _That's so cool_!" and " _How does it feel_?" That last question always settled uncomfortably with Philip. How does it feel to be adopted? Well, the first would be worthless. Two, confused about the whereabouts of your biological parents. And three...thankful.

Thankful that a kind person would take in a child who had been thrown away as if he was that staple that had been used once and could never be used again.

His father claimed he lost a son a few years prior he was adopted. The poor father, losing his son-- and even a mother who had given birth to him. His wife committed suicide a few days later after the acknowledgement their son was stillborn. However, he couldn't find any apparent photos of his father's wife. He said he had gotten rid of them, to remove the ugly truth.

Philip sometimes despised how empathetic he was. 

He held too much emotion.

Too much empathy.

He could feel others by stepping in their shoes.

Even his father said he cried a number of times while watching sad movies when he was younger.

It was a power his father could never understand. To be born with such a unique gift. 

Philip twirled the fork in his left hand. He pressed his unoccupied fist into his cheek, where his elbow drove against the table. He swayed his feet back and forth to keep his dog's death from his conscious. He lifted his feet higher off the ground, so he could swing them without stopping. Whenever he did this, Fluffy would come running and would try to lick at his toes whenever he swung them. The memory of that caused him to stop swaying.

His fork stopped twirling and the spaghetti slipped down onto his plate, leaving his utensil naked.

"Philip, don't worry about it. I'll assure you, all of this will go away."

His son peered his eyes up at his father, who gave him a sweet old man smile. Philip returned his eyes back to his dinner plate, as he counted every noodle strand.

"Trust me, I've done this many times--"

"Enough that you grew numb even at the mention of death?" Philip's slammed his four-pronged fork onto his dinner plate, creating an awful scratchy noise.

"Enough that you will get used to it."

Philip kept quiet after that sentence. His grip tightened, forcing the fork into submission.

The man sighed. "Philip. I know you're distraught. And I know you love Fluffy very much as I do. But there are times where we have to let things go-- _I've_ let many things go."

He knew about his father's past and it was no mystery.

"Dad..." Philip let go of his fork, letting it clang on his dinner plate. He closed his eyes before rubbing his face up and down. He got the skin to a flexible and elastic feeling that expressions wouldn't feel stiff. "how does it feel to die?"

His father stilled his fork. He was about to eat it until the question came and the spaghetti he unravelled slipped off his fork.

"Well..." his father placed the fork gently on his plate and he folded his hands together. "it depends what kind of death it is. If you're talking about Fluffy, her's was very painless. Unless, if you're talking about other deaths..."

Death was a sensitive topic and Philip knew it.

They both knew it.

"In general," said Philip.

"The more extreme how you die is going to express how painful it will be. But that does not happen all the time."

"What if it's...slow?"

"Slow and painful? It's exactly what the sentence entails."

"But Fluffy's was slow."

"But painless."

Death.

_A secret formula._

He hid the ugliness of his curious teenage brain under the covers of his skull and scalp with layers upon layers of hair and dandruff.

"Well, I'm off to bed. I have to wake up early tomorrow. Buy yourself lunch, aye? And finish your dinner." His father stated before getting up from his chair. 

Philip snorted when he saw his father's plate, still full with tomato sauce covered noodles, carried away to the kitchen. Philip took his fork and poked at the noodles. They weren't warm anymore and the steam vanished. He didn't like eating cold food but he shouldn't be picky. He spun the spaghetti around his fork and took an unsatisfied mouthful. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**April 27, 2019**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The stag lived in his dreams once again.

As Alexander showered in his bathroom, with water that was barely hot enough to warm his body.

The shower curtains unveiled without a master to coordinate it's material, presenting a stag with hairs that were thick enough to drown fleas if they dared enter to cling onto a piece of skin and never let go. It had antlers that could kill men in one single swoop and hooves that stomped over the rich earth until it flattened.

Another new scene-- another new experience.

Every day seemed like a new adventure and Hamilton could swim in his sleep for hours upon hours each day.

Naked in his bathroom, to be revealed to an animal that had no interests with a nude human. Nor will it do anything about it. Alexander held no signs of humiliation or the instinct to cover up.

The shampoo dripped from his hair and down his face, testing his eyes if they could stand it. The liquid dripped down his shoulders, down his chest and finally dissolved when the showerhead dispersed water at it and turned it into nothing but fragrance.

The gorgeous beast breathed in and out, exhaling warm air it gathered in its body before emitting fumes from its nostrils. The hot water from the showerhead was steaming, filling the room with hot air. The mirror appeared to have fogged up, barely any recognizable reflections in there. 

The soft wind brushed against the stag's hairy coat that protected itself from the harsh elements. Each time its heavy hooves stepped on the ground, it almost felt like an earthquake came to life. 

Tap, tap.

Tap, tap.

It was odd for heavy hooves to make such a light sound.

That sound rapped at least four times until another two had been added.

Alexander struggled to open his eyelids, where the blinding light hit his eyes. He should have shut the curtains before heading off to bed. He knew it was going to be a regret one day. The summer solstice was coming around the corner and now seemed the time to start building that habit.

He reached out for the stars, stretching his arms and legs that desperately needed a long massage.

"Alexander. I made you breakfast." 

He recognized that Virginian voice and he immediately fell into a bad mood. 

Hamilton sat up and removed the blankets off of his body. He felt warm, a little too warm. The sun had been beaming on him since the time it came up but the weather must have been getting warmer. They were definitely in April.

He looked to Jefferson, who wore that same black apron to cook food. Seeing that on him always reminded him of the meals he had to eat. Whenever he wore it, it was mealtime.

The Virginian returned back to the kitchen and the sound of sizzling hit Alexander's eardrums. The door had been left open for Hamilton and the smell travelled through the crack and into his nose. 

Alex placed the bottom of his feet on the floor, giving one final stretch that looked like a demonic possession before heading out the door.

Once he got out, the smell of melted butter hit him in the head like a truck. The scent was thicker than the stream that wandered passed the door.

He decided to brush his teeth before eating. He entered his bathroom, that had been repainted in a dark grey coat, a green plant with a white vase had been placed on the ground, surrounded by taller and bigger vases with bigger plants and the shower curtains were changed to a different colour. Even such little things contributed to such beauty.

Most of this remodelling suited Jefferson's tastes but it slowly grew on Hamilton. He didn't like having to clean up after everything, even the tiniest subjects had to be eliminated. 

He pulled open the cabinet door to retrieve his toothbrush and toothpaste. At first glance, it revealed his medication bottles. They still laid in the same position he put them in. Jefferson never touched them and he respected Alexander's privacy.

Hamilton reached his hand out to one bottle. He still had those nightmares with the stag. He still didn't understand the meaning behind it but he was convinced it may have been anxiety. The only thing that he really considered a problem, were his nightmares. Everything else seemed O.K for now. After a long time of thought, he placed the container back to where it belonged. 

By closing the cabinet door, the mirror reflected Hamilton's appearance. Alexander hadn't realised this until now but he had gained a little bit of weight, heading just _slightly_ above underweight but still under the average male. He didn't look like a zombie wreck and those dark bags gradually faded away. His sleep and eating schedules were tucked neatly in a healthy circumstance, thanks to Thomas.

He squeezed a pea-sized bit of paste on the little strands on his toothbrush before rubbing those fibres on his teeth.

He cleaned up his face with warm water and patted it down with a clean towel before heading to the dining room.

Jefferson had two plates ready for the two of them. Still wearing that apron, as he placed the food down onto the dining table. Something delicious to eat, scrambled eggs, with ham and toast. He retrieved two glasses, filled halfway with orange juice to the table.

The smell was very distracting and Alexander's mouth watered instantly.

"Ready?" Thomas asked.

Alexander snapped back into reality before nodding his head rapidly.

Breakfast was quiet but it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. The two were now used to their silence that it wasn't bothering. Alexander chowed down on the scrambled eggs and ham. The fluffiness was just right, the seasoning was perfect and the ham was scrumptious.

Jefferson was the one to break the silence.

"I contacted Hercules Mulligan this early morning. I believe you two are friends?"

"How'd you get his number?" Alexander ignored the question and rather made his own.

"Lafayette mentioned it to me."

 _"Oh. Yeah. Of course,"_ Alexander rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we're both friends." He finally answered.

"Mulligan showed me the routes of each disappearance of the nine victims. He traced the patterns of each family, specifically fathers with children, somewhere around the ones around junior or senior year." Jefferson pulled out a sheet of paper that had laid on his lap since the beginning of breakfast. Alexander didn't even see it until he placed it on the tabletop. "He also printed me a map of the surroundings."

The nine bodies were identified as male, linked to having children under the age of eighteen.

Hamilton could make an assumption that all of these men were stalked before murdered. Their suspect must have hunted down in the shadows, to play the guessing game if his observations were correct. He had a keen eye that preyed viciously on his victims before pouncing at the right time. His eyes and brain clung together like a masterpiece. They worked perfectly together.

There were circles written with black ink, showing the location of each targets families.

That added another clue to their investigation. It had been speculated these individuals were randomly picked off the street at the perfect time possible. However, now that they knew these victims were fathers who raised children, it let a generous step further to their investigation. 

As Jefferson fed himself a spoonful of eggs, Hamilton spoke out.

"All fathers had children that attended high school, roughly from freshman year to senior. Most of the children interviewed had plans to register at a higher degree of learning, exclusively juniors and seniors. That means they will have to move away from their parents." Hamilton blurted.

Jefferson raised a brow before tilting his drink high enough for the fluid to slide down his throat. He eyed Hamilton carefully, almost scornfully, as he silently processed every bit of data in that unique brain of his.

"He's scared of losing his child and he's eliminating every other father to feel his pain."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day commenced with a dark start, suiting the two investigators to prepare themselves for the best. Their suspect was active, living and moving. Who knows where the next victim could pop up.

"Well, it gardens, for starters," Hamilton began. "it obviously knows how to work with nature and the environment. It knows about the stages of decay and types of soil that are able to reduce the time of decomposition." The substrate required the most time to prepare but it also makes an effective soil substitute for growing mushrooms.

"Is Eliza coming?" Alexander poked at her name as they came to an abrupt halt. The amount of traffic in New York never seemed to settle with Alexander, who expressed his anger by pressing his palm against the car horn. " _New Yorkers_ ", Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunately, she couldn't make it today. She made arrangements with her younger sister. I suppose that it will be the two of us."

Hamilton's face contorted with an expression of revulsion and disinterest. Already having him as a roommate was fine enough, but having him as a partner at work and also on the field? He spent almost every hour with him and seeing his face grew into a chore rather than something to throw darts at.

"I guess," Alex muttered under his breath.

Alexander's car parked at the back of one of the garden centres that was suggested to be their suspect's workplace. It took countless hours and precious time to find out an identity. 

However, someone finally came into contact. He wanted to be kept anonymous but he left his initials as, "S.S".

 _"We used to work together as pharmacists but after a few years, with no explanation, he quit. I think it was because of his wife and son's deaths that set him off. But anyway, he vaguely told me he was going to be an "environmentalist". I can only assume it's anything nature related. He deleted my contact info and we cut off connections a week later. I haven't seen him since."_  

They were in a back room, with a number of files that were stored away in cabinets. There were boxes filled with files and important documents lying on the ground. It could take ages for just the two of them to scan through them.

There was a woman who worked in the back, surprised by their sudden encounter. They obviously did not schedule an appointment or register a date. But they did not have time for that. A flick of the wrist, revealing their ID, excused their disturbance.

"Yes...yes, I know--...they are _taking_ things." The woman at her desk whispered harshly into a phone she held in her hand. "What? No--... _yes_ they can." She sternly added. "Look, I'll just--" she stood up from her chair and turned around to face the two men. "what did you say his name was?"

She waited for a response, as the two did not present her an answer until ten awkward seconds later, Hamilton broke the silence.

"George King."

The woman looked at them for an uncomfortable amount of time. They introduced themselves as investigators but all they did was trash the office. She then picked up the phone again and whispered, "I'll call you back." She put the device down and narrowed her eyes at the men. She crossed her arms and she didn't seem well pleased that they were trashing her back room, with folders and files that she needed to reorganize after their departure.

"Does he have a son?" Alexander quirked. "About my height, a teenager, curly hair, freckles and tan skin?"

"I don't know. I don't keep track of family members." She spoke with a hint of irritation.

"Alexander. Why are you so interested in King?" Jefferson called out. He checked one of the folders before putting it back when he found nothing good.

"Everyone left addresses and phone numbers but King only left his number." Hamilton stared at one of the binders with parchments that designated towards different people in the workplace. One peculiar sheet belonged to a man who kept discreet. He stayed hidden in the back shelf to collect dust while everyone else shined. 

"Perhaps he wrote it elsewhere," Jefferson replied.

"That could be..." Hamilton muttered before he turned to the lady. "do you have another binder of addresses?" 

The woman sighed heavily with a vexed expression before spinning around on her heels to find that specific binder hidden in a heap of cabinets and boxes. As much as her attitude ticked Alexander off, he didn't have time to get angry about something so unnecessary to argue about.

There laid a staircase out the backdoor, along with two railings on either side as support. They needed to gather the necessary boxes that could potentially hold the identity of their suspect. They first started with the containers that were deemed suspicious.

Two boxes were shipped in the back of Alexander's trunk while Jefferson collected the third. He lowered one of the boxes down for the woman to catch but then he angled it.  The folders and files dispersed to the ground. The box also fell, where the lid slammed onto the concrete and soared off. All of the contents exploded, making a mess of white paper.

"I got it...!" Hamilton's voice emitted as he jogged to the scene. 

While Hamilton and the woman helped each other to clean the clutter, Jefferson returned back inside.

The interior of the building was shabby and unpleasant. There were no windows, only concrete walls and a corkboard that had an overcrowded sum of stapled paper.

The Virginian neared the corded desk telephone (apparently people still use them) the lady used prior. He grabbed a single tissue from a tissue box he found on the woman's desk. He wrapped it up until it could fit around the phone's handle. He knocked gently at the numbers with his metacarpophalangeal joints rather than his fingerprints.

After pushing down the necessary numbers, he waited for an answer to arrive.

Philip's father cleaned the dishes while Philip dried them off.

The two worked in silence until the sound of their family phone rang throughout the room. Philip, being the closest to the phone, walked over and grabbed it.

"Hello?" Philip questioned before placing the device next to his ear. A look of confusion contorted on his face as he cocked his head to the side. "Hey, Dad. It's for you." He spun around to his father, who, too, had a similar expression to his.

"Who is it?" 

"Caller ID said it was blocked," Philip shrugged before he returned to his drying station.

After wiping his hands free of water, the man took the phone and placed it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Mister George King." A deep and low voice called from the other side. He hid his accent from plain sight, as it would draw too much attention.

"Yes?" His voice was filled with suspicion and timidness. 

"We don't know each other and to my honest regards that we will never meet. My time is limited I will only say this once."

"...Should I write this down...?" King's replies grew slower and hesitant.

"No need." The man replied.

"...Then...what is it?" He was apprehensive what to reply next and he repeated the same word he used before. His palms grew sweaty and he shifted from one foot to the other. He took a deep breath, just like what he always told his son. 

"They know."

The man on the other side felt his heart and stomach drop. His surroundings grew dull and did someone turn on the AC? The hairs on his body stood up and goosebumps ran up his arms. His heart returned back to its place, to immediately race inside of his chest. His face turned to view through the window and peered outside, paranoid out of his own skin.

King returned his gaze back into the kitchen and opened his mouth.

Jefferson decided it was best to hang up. He removed the phone from his ear and placed it back where he found it. The tissue he used as a holder instead of his hand had been deposited into his pocket. It seemed necessary to place it there and instead of the garbage, just to be safe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I don't know _how_ you figured out his address," Hamilton broke the silence. "but, we'll talk about it later."

It rained recently and with a mixture of spring's heat created the best spot for hide and seek: the fog.

How convenient that an eerie investigation and an eerie setting laid upon the pair. The fog was incredibly thick and that beautiful landscape could no longer be admired.

Hamilton may have stepped on the peddle more than the speed limit's requirements. Jefferson occasionally picked on the littlest of details from Alexander's imperfections but he said not a word during the car ride.

The building was located far from the city, isolated from most contact outside. It just about brushed against the borders of Pennsylvania, stealing its grass and forestry while still being in New York. The drive was quite long, to escape the densely populated city, to a very secluded region. They called for an ambulance and backup to arrive a bit earlier than expected. There wasn't anything to be seen-- whoever settled here decided to live in the middle of nowhere.

The driveway was incredibly long, stretching a few indulgent meters until it connected to the main road. The house appeared not much of a mansion, but enough to house more than two individuals. There wasn't any noise coming out of the house.

Just silence.

Goosebumps climbed up Hamilton's arms as if bugs were crawling on them. A house of who-knows-what could be inside. He had to prepare himself before entering, physically and mentally.

Alexander felt it was time to bring out a bottle. He kept a container of anti-anxiety medication lying around for emergencies. Anxiety grew on the day he started driving and it was no shame that everybody felt that. He gradually stopped using them as he got used to driving behind the wheel. But this during this occasion, his gut told him he needed to take a pill.

He took a pill and swallowed it without water. He didn't carry a water bottle around, which was unfortunate.

Hamilton stepped out of the car first and led the way to the house. Jefferson exited the car a few seconds later and decided to stay back as his partner's right-hand man.

Screams of distress emitted from inside the house, muffled by the thick walls of insulation.

_"--ad! Dad...! Dad--!"_

Hamilton's instincts told him that those screams and the pitch of it belonged to a boy, no older than eighteen. And by the words that rapped "Dad", his father was harming him in a violent fashion.

He leapt to the front door grabbed hold of the handle. To his surprise, it wasn't locked. He could assume the father must have kept his son hostage and had to avoid letting him escape, which meant staying in one place. It was a risk but, that was what he had to endure.

Once he swung the door open, he stepped inside.

"Alexander Hamilton!" The man called his name out loud, enough for the entire house to hear. The sound of pleads and the strive for survival continued but the rough-housing seemed to have stopped.

Once he entered the house, the lobby appeared clean and tidy.

What put off the oddity, was the living room. It appeared messy at first glance. The pillows have been thrown on the ground, the curtains have been pulled, shown by the hinges, as some were broken. The curtain hung unevenly, the right side heavy and low while the left still hung on for life. The couches were moved, shown that the boy must have been moving behind it left and right to stop his father's advancements. 

Hamilton felt for the gun in his back pocket, at the right, where his dominant hand propped behind it while keeping his left hand forward. As he approached the kitchen, he strung it forward at the sight before him.

George King, a former pharmacist. A tragedy struck his wife and child, leading his broken heart to quit and become an environmentalist, with the help of a boy he adopted. Oh, how they have grown. A knife pledged allegiance to its owner while the sharp side of the blade pointed to its target: his son.

The teenager's expression screamed fear and shock. He couldn't register the sense of adrenaline and the obnoxious throb that constantly flowed through his head.

"Let go of the boy." Hamilton started with a bold statement. He held his gun with sweaty palms while he pointed it towards the man. 

"Dad...!" His voice cracked. He dry throat got the better of him, after yelling for the past few minutes. His right hand fell onto his father's arm that kept him in place and the left at the arm that was about to slice his throat. 

"I'm giving you five seconds to release him. If you do not release him at the count of five, I will not hesitate to shoot you." Hamilton earnestly did his best to keep his tone at a confident and serious pace. His voice had a pitch of hesitation and the voice coming from a wounded animal.

He couldn't be like Jefferson. He didn't have his calm and collected demeanour, that handled the most difficult and stressful situations. He didn't have Thomas by his side and he needed to do this alone.

"Dad! _Dad_!" The boy shouted, his voice cracking furthermore, at the brink of tears. His hands returned to scrambling, his nails scratched at the man's arms and hands, transferring him unpresentable cuts and scrapes. None of these affected him.

"Five." Hamilton began.

The boy's father did the opposite of what Alexander ordered him to do. His grip tightened around the handle of the knife and the arm he trapped around his son grew tight as iron cuffs. The man started to back up further into the kitchen until his waist hit the kitchen counter. They had nowhere else to go and the most simple and painless action was to give up.

"Four."

The handle grew tighter and the blade of the knife kissed at the boy's skin. It didn't pierce through but it had been begging to for the past few minutes.

"Dad--!"

By the time Alexander was about to say three, George's arm moved at a quick motion. The knife followed along, cutting whatever surface it could find, appearing to be Philip's neck. The slice started at the right side and _almost_ down to the other if it weren't for Alexander's quick movements. 

He lifted his gun into the air, pulling the trigger immediately at the man. Unfortunately, to his demise, it didn't hit him, but only the kitchen counter that King managed to dodge out of. He ran to the living room, where there was a screen door. Alexander heard it pull away swiftly before making his grand escape.

Hamilton immediately dropped down to his knees and clutched both of his hands around the boy's neck to conceal the fresh wound. A tremendous amount of blood spilt out of the youngster's neck and painted over the kitchen tiled floor. He let out panicked gasps, trying to clutch every air molecule he could grasp onto.

The idea of moving his body outside so that the paramedics could tend to him faster seemed to be a bad idea. The boy could bleed out faster with so much movement involved.

Hamilton felt two warm hands grab onto him.

His fingernails wrenched into Hamilton's skin, trying to scream out something that couldn't run out of his mouth.

Philip's eyes were bulging wide as saucers.

It wasn't necessary for Hamilton to panic like he was right now. He felt connected with this young boy. He _felt_ his pain. Even though his own neck wasn't slit, he could feel the tension and adrenaline inflate through his body.

_Hamilton was this boy's last hope._

Both of their adrenaline busted through the roof but Alex needed to act as fast as possible.

He brought his hand over to the boy's neck and tried to conceal the wound. His hands were unconsciously twitching if they were possessed. He couldn't control the way they moved, almost like he had arthritis. He didn't understand why he had been acting this way. Perhaps it was the case that involved a child that made him feel weak? 

A grace, a saviour, a man with the presence of a cautious deer, approached calmly towards the two. Hamilton envied Jefferson's smooth and easiness--as if this didn't affect him.

Thomas crouched down onto his knee while using his big hands to wrap around Philip's neck, encasing the slit shut. Philip gradually calmed down, finally reaching a brink of peace, knowing that his chance of survival was no longer slim. Still, his heart pounded in his chest like a battering ram but it was better than before.

The removal of Jefferson's hands had been replaced by paramedics, bandaging it tight enough, that the blood would stop pouring.

Philip had been transported to a stretcher, letting out uncontrollable sobs and sniffles.

He stared at the clear, blue sky, knowing that this day was the _worst_.

The stretcher rolled into the ambulance, followed by Jefferson closely behind. He hopped into the vehicle before the doors shut on his way inside. The ambulance winded back onto the main road and drove off into the distance.

Hamilton's sleeves were stained with the colour of a stranger's blood and his arms and hands weren't excluded from the equation either. 

At the corner of his retina, a sudden flash of light abrupted his eyes. It only lasted for a millisecond so it didn't bother him too much. Alexander pinned his eyes on the concrete driveway, still trying to his adrenaline at ease. But he just _couldn't_. Normally, he would be completely fine with these certain events. Hell, his colleagues even called him a "stoic bastard".

His hands trembled relentlessly and the blood from his hands trailed down his fingertips and on the concrete.

_Fear._

_He could really feel it._

That is, until, the pills started kicking in.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've said this earlier, but there is a lot of crime inaccuracy here, MAINLY the roles that these characters have (ex. Alexander being a CSI, however, that role in real life is quite different from the one I have on display. And also, I should've made him a special agent and a criminal profiler, because it makes more sense they have a gun and are able to shoot people 'n stuff. Crime scene investigators can wield a gun, however, mainly for self-defence and to protect the crime scene from any people who want to destroy the evidence). I'll have to say that a lot of this isn't exactly realistic to what's happening in real life (I'm very poor at crime-related stuff, so sue me). Honestly I low-key started this off with a bit of knowledge but not a whole-wide range. I will have to go back and change a lot of stuff in the first chapter, which'll take some time off for updates. Alexander will become not only a crime scene investigator but also a special agent that works for the FBI.  
>  
> 
> (not necessary to the story but I thought it'd be cool to read idkeirgjnegf)
> 
> So, I actually had concerns about Philip's age. I have the stuff planned out, but Philip was the only one that got me stuck. I was thinking about late adolescent or early adolescent or perhaps the middle. Because little Philip is naive and adorable and it's absolutely horrible to see this kid die (not like it'll happen). But older Philip allows him to do a lot more things, it matches a lot of stuff that occurs in Hannibal TV series and it makes my life a whole lot easier. What I decided, is to make him 16 (just like Abigail Hobbs from Hannibal) but his father treats him like he's 5 :|


End file.
